


Sweet Child O’ Mine

by likethedirection



Category: Glee
Genre: Babyfic, F/M, Gen, Ill-Advised Use and Discussion of Slurs, Implied/Referenced Past Domestic Violence, M/M, Puck is a Potty-Mouth, Underage Drinking, canon through season 2, friendship fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-01
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 00:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 107,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1407508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likethedirection/pseuds/likethedirection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Puck comes to Kurt for help, and Kurt figures it can’t hurt to do a friend a favor.  Unfortunately, everything is more complicated when there’s a baby involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Kurt was wrenched out of dream-sleep by a hand clamping around his arm and _yanking_.

He was not at all proud of the shriek that leapt from his throat before another hand clamped over his mouth with a hissed, “Dude, shut _up_!”

Kurt’s eyes fluttered open, and it took a second for his eyes to adjust while his heart hammered in his ears.  The second he did, he reached up and tugged the hand away from his mouth.  “ _Noah_!”

“Shh!”

“What on _earth_ \--”

“Just shut up a second!” Puck said in a harsh whisper, glancing warily toward the door before straightening up.  “Get up.”

"Are you kidding me?"

“Nope.”  Puck all but yanked him out of bed before Kurt was conscious enough to pull his arm away.  "What are you _doing_?" Kurt hissed, and Puck shushed him again.

"Keep it _down_.  Chang's got ears like a bat.  Easier to talk outside."

Kurt stared at him, bedraggled and bleary-eyed, still  stuck in bewilderment over why Puck was in his house talking about Mike Chang.  It came back sluggishly: first weekend of summer, Glee Guys’ Night In, pizza and video games forever, straight boys snoring all over his living room.  Right.

Clearly he was taking too long, because Puck scowled, looking remarkably twitchy.

"Just--"  Puck grabbed him by the wrist and more or less dragged him out into the darkened hall.  "Keep quiet."

Wrenching his arm back again, Kurt glared but followed, rubbing his wrist.  Apparently he really wasn’t dreaming.

Puck didn't say anything more until they were down the stairs, out the back door and a few steps onto the porch that overlooked the backyard.  Kurt leaned groggily against the balustrade and crossed his arms.  His voice crackling with sleep, he said, "This had better be a crisis."

"Got news for you, it _is_ ," Puck said, facing him and assuming the same position.  "This is top secret, and if you tell anyone, you're gonna be sleeping with one eye open for the rest of your life.  Got me?"

Kurt blinked slowly, not nearly awake enough to be intimidated.  "I really hope you’re not about to tell me I’m your sexual crisis, Noah.  There are only so many questionably platonic bromances a boy can take."

"I don't know what you just said, but this isn't a sex thing.  Well.  Not now.  It was, but."

Kurt lifted an eyebrow.

“Forget it, dude.  That’s not it.  This is different.  And I can’t screw this up, so I need to know you’re down.”

"Okay, I'm going to need you to say something coherent pretty soon here," Kurt said, stretching a hand across his eyes.  "Preferably concerning why you literally _dragged me out of bed_ at stupid-in-the-morning to threaten me over some deep dark secret you haven't even told me."

"Quit having a bitch-fit and I'm gonna!" Puck hissed.  "Goddamn."

Kurt heaved a put-upon sigh and rolled a wrist for him to go ahead.  Puck didn’t comply right away, fidgeting a little bit, glancing inside, frowning at the house next door.

“I need a favor,” he finally said.  Kurt lifted his eyebrows.  “And you can’t tell anyone about this.  I’m serious.”

“Go on,” Kurt said when Puck paused.

“I need a driver.”

“Pardon?”

“You heard me.”  Puck kicked at a stick that had wedged itself between two of the wood slabs that made up the deck floor.  “When I stole that ATM and went to juvie, my mom took away all my driving _and_ ride-hitching privileges with her.  I’m not even allowed in the _trunk_.  She said I can come within five feet of the car again when I save up and pay off all the damages myself.  Which is gonna take, like, forever.”

“And what, pray tell, do you think would possess me to spend my summer vacation carting you around Lima like Morgan Freeman in a race-relations dramedy?  I’m honestly curious.”

“Dude, let me finish!”  He started to look a little panicky again, and Kurt sighed and leaned back, closing his mouth.  “It’s not for everywhere.  I just need a driver for one place.  If shit goes down, it might even be a one-time thing, but if I play my cards right, it won’t be.”

“I’m not helping you steal another ATM.  Or rob a bank.  Maybe a Macy’s.”

“No, that’s not it!” Puck said, shooting him a glare.  “I’m not stupid.  If I pull any of that shit again, the next thing my mom’s taking away is my bed.”

“Then what exactly are you asking me?”

“I want to go see her!” Puck blurted, then snapped his mouth shut like he hadn’t planned on saying that yet.

Kurt frowned.  “Your mom?”

“What?  No!“  Puck eyed him for a long moment, then looked away with a lowered brow.  “Beth.”

“Beth?”  Kurt frowned and drew breath to inform Puck that he wanted _no_ part of Puck’s adventures in adultery, not least because Lauren was much bigger than him and could easily snap him in half like a twig, but the vague familiarity of the name and Puck’s expression resonated with each other, and he stopped.  Beth.  Beth, like the song.

The song Puck had sung for his baby girl.

“…Oh,” Kurt said, because that was the last thing he had expected to hear.

“Yeah, ‘oh,’” Puck said.  “I want to see her.”

“How do you even know where she is?”

“Berry’s mom gave us her deets when we signed the adoption agreement.  They’re still in Lima, just off in Carmel High’s district across town.  Like twenty minutes from here.”  He paused a second, looking closely at Kurt as if to gauge his reaction before going on.  "She gave Quinn and me her number and everything.  Just need a chauffer, is all."

"And this is definitely within your visitation rights?" Kurt asked carefully.

"Hell, yeah.  Quinn signed hers away, but I can see Beth as long as it's supervised.  Not that Q knows about that part."

Kurt pursed his lips, taking a moment.  “So this is all behind Quinn’s back.”

“No.  Maybe.  Whatever, she signed the paper, that means whatever goes on with Beth?  Not her deal.”

“Then why all the secrecy?”

“Come on, Hummel, half the reason I picked you is because you’re not one of the stupid ones.  I _just_ finally got all the baby drama behind me.  You know how long it’s been since Finn and me have been cool?  Or Quinn?  Even Rachel got pissed off before because she sees Beth as some kind of replacement-baby for her mom.  Anyone else finds out I’m bringing baby back like JT, no one’ll ever trust me again.”

“To be fair, we generally don’t trust you anyway.  Rule of thumb.”

“Yeah, well, whatever.  Are you with me or not?”

Kurt bit his lip, hesitating.  What to say.  "Remind me again why you're not asking Lauren, or, I don't know, _Rachel_ , to help you with this?"

"No way, dude," Puck said, his eyes widening.  "I'm keeping Lauren as far away from all this stuff as possible.  I worked too hard at the whole wooing thing to lose my Amazon warrior queen over stuff that happened a year ago.  And Beth's already gonna have mama-drama her whole life without Little Berry Cuckoo adding in all of hers."  He shrugged, leaning back against the railing.  "Was gonna ask Artie, but that would kinda defeat the purpose of the whole driving-me-there-with-no-parents part."

"Okay.  That explains why not them."  Kurt eyed him, still a little wary.  "Why me?"

Puck seemed to wrestle with his answer for a bit before it found its way out.  "Because we've got history, all right?  Yeah, you've got a bigger chip on your shoulder than Batman and are pretty much the gayest of the gay, but I've been giving you shit since sixth grade.  That's long enough to know that you're actually a decent dude.  You promise not to tell anyone or blackmail me or anything, I know you're good for it."

"…I'm going to bypass the part where I try to decide whether that was flattering or insulting, and go straight to my final question."  And he looked at Puck earnestly now, because this was much more important than either of them.  "What are you hoping to achieve by doing this?  Your daughter has a family now, and they're not going to stop being her family just because you show up at the door."

"I know that.  I'm not _stupid_ ," Puck said again, pitching forward with his fists clenched, and in spite of himself, Kurt flinched back.  At no point in his life had he ever forgotten that Karofsky was not his first bully.

Puck seemed to notice his body language after a second, and with great difficulty seemed to force his hands to relax.  He took a breath. 

"Look.  My dad walked out on me, and it sucked.  And your mom's out of the picture, so I know you get it."  He faltered for a second, as if waiting for Kurt's face to fall, but it didn't, and he continued.  "Maybe I can't be Beth's dad anymore, but I can make sure she knows that I want to be.  She's got to know that I wanted her from the second I found out about her.  That even if I'm not right next to her all the time, I'm there for her, all the way."

Passion looked foreign and a little beautiful on him, and Kurt couldn't say a word.

Puck's voice lowered a little, and he frowned at the ground.  "I don’t know if it’s gonna do any good.  Maybe I get there and her new mom decides she doesn’t want me around screwing her up.  If she wants me out, I’m out.  But I want to try.”  He shoved his hands in his pockets and mumbled, “I just want to see her.”

Kurt watched him for a long time, then said softly, “When did you want to go?”

Puck’s face opened, as though he’d been expecting something else, before immediately closing again.  “Whenever the MILF is free.  I don’t know her schedule.”

“…Puck, you are planning on _telling_ Ms. Corcoran you’re dropping by, aren’t you?”

“Well, _yeah_.  I just haven’t done it yet.”

“Okay, well, sooner would be better.  I’ll be around most of the day tomorrow…today,” he corrected himself, wrinkling his nose, “so call her to make sure it’s okay, then call me with the details and I’ll see what I can do.”

Puck bristled a little, his face going moody and flat.

“What’s the problem?” Kurt said, lifting a brow.  “You said you have her number.”

Puck muttered something Kurt didn’t quite catch, not meeting his eyes anymore, and it looked a whole lot like the time in their middle school gym class when Puck had been the very last member of his dodgeball team, facing down six of the hardest throwers at Lima West.  (A situation he could have avoided if he hadn’t tripped Kurt so all the other team’s attention would be on him, just for fun--eight dodgeballs in rapid succession, giving birth to countless bruises and the highly classy nickname of ‘Pummel-Me-Hummel.’)  It was only in the eyes, but it was definitely that look, the uh-oh-I-wasn’t-planning-on-doing-the-scary-part look.

It was almost endearing--almost--and Kurt heaved a sigh.  “Would you like me to call her?”

Puck’s mouth stayed clamped shut, but he glanced up with an expression that said that was what he’d been hoping for all along, and Kurt rolled his eyes.  “Oh, for goodness’ sake.”

“Spare me your bitchface, Hummel.  I just think she’d be less likely to hang up off the bat if it was you.  I’ve seen how you talk to the teachers at school--hell, even _Sylvester_ likes you.  You’re like an authority figure’s wet dream.”

Kurt grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Please stop talking.”

“So you’re in?”

Kurt took a moment to go over the situation one more time in his head.  It _was_ one of Puck’s more honorable requests, and even if it didn’t go perfectly, all he would have done was drive.  The worst he might have to deal with was a disappointed and, if so, probably angry or sad Puck if it turned out Ms. Corcoran didn’t approve.  Maybe he and Puck weren’t great friends, but he’d heard that Puck had taken a pretty personal stake in avenging Kurt against the jocks while he’d been at Dalton, and he had never really thanked him for that.

And after all, Puck had more or less single-handedly engineered Kurt’s first meeting with Blaine.  If defending Kurt against the other jocks hadn’t earned him brownie points, _that_ certainly had.

Kurt lifted his eyes again and nodded.  “All right.  I’m in.  I’ll be up around nine, and I know for a fact that the rest of you guys stay comatose until at least two o’clock after these parties, so if you come up between those times, we can make the call without interruption.”  Letting the businesslike tone drop a little from his voice, he added, “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Sweet.”  Puck held out a fist.  “Pound it.”

Kurt glanced at it warily.  “Only if I have your word that it won’t start as ’pounding it’ and end with raw egg in my hair.  That was only marginally less traumatic than the pee-balloons.”

“Dude, that was seventh grade.  And, like, my lamest prank ever.  Besides, you’re doing me a favor.  That means you’re my boy now.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Kurt said under his breath, but tentatively bumped Puck’s fist nevertheless.

-

He almost, _almost_ made it back to bed after that, but as he was shuffling back down the hall toward his room with its big, soft mattress and mountain of pillows and layers of sheets with heavenly thread counts, the bathroom door opened and he nearly collided with a very sleepy Finn.

Finn, who frowned at him, then at the stairs, then back at him.  “Dude…”

“Go back to sleep, Finn,” Kurt said, entirely unwilling to think up an elaborate excuse at--he glanced at the clock-- _four thirty-eight_ in the morning.  Ugh.

“Wait…” Finn said muzzily, shaking his head, “…were you and Puck…were you guys out on the porch just now?”

Crap.  “Why on earth would I be on the porch at this hour? With Puckerman, of all people?”

“I saw you guys.  Out the window.  You were on the porch.”

“Clearly you were dreaming.”

"But…I’m pretty sure I was awake, though," Finn said, but his brow drew into a frown, the statement sort of turning into a question between the first word and the last.

"How many times have I told you what eating Flamin' Hot Cheetos before bed will do to your subconscious mind?  Not to mention your metabolic rate."

"Uh...I don't...are you sure you weren't out there?"

"Indubitably."

Finn stared at him, sleepily distraught.  "Why are you using so many big words?"

Mission Distract Finn With English: success.

Kurt patted his arm and gently turned him back toward his room.  "Go back to bed, sweetie."

“Yeah…yeah, okay.”

Kurt let out his breath as soon as he heard Finn collapse back onto his bed, then finally made it back to his own room to do the same.

He was part of a Puck-scheme.  He was going to wake up and call Rachel Berry’s bio-mom so he could drive Noah Puckerman across town to see a baby.  In secret.

Not for the first time that year, he drifted back to sleep pondering the one-act musical farce that had become his life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Puck comes to Kurt for help, and Kurt figures it can’t hurt to do a friend a favor.  Unfortunately, everything is more complicated when there’s a baby involved.

Negotiating with Shelby Corcoran turned out to be a surprisingly simple task.  Puck half-sleepwalked into Kurt’s room at ten o’clock, and once Kurt had securely shut the door and made sure he was clear on the details, he sat down cross-legged next to Puck on his bed and made the call.  She answered on the third ring.  
  
Kurt put her on speaker so Puck could hear and contribute if he wanted, and then carefully explained the situation.  She agreed, if a bit hesitantly, and they settled on Wednesday afternoon for them to stop over.  
  
“Noah and I really appreciate your openness to this, Ms. Corcoran.  I realize the situation is a little unorthodox, but as Noah’s fellow glee member and temporary chauffer for this endeavor, I promise you that he will be on his best behavior,” he said brightly, knocking Puck in the arm until he choked out, “Yeah.  Uh.  Thanks.”  
  
Kurt rolled his eyes, because how was it that the only other men in his life with over a hundred words in their vocabulary were either gay or Jesse St. James?  
  
“Not at all,” she said, her voice tinny through the speaker.  “I think it’s great that you want to have a role, Noah.  And I appreciate that you gave it some time before jumping in.  I’m curious, though.  Why now?”  
  
Kurt lifted his eyebrows, because he had kind of been wondering that, too.  
  
Puck cleared his throat, avoiding looking at the phone as if it was her.  “…I haven’t stopped thinking about her since she was born,” he said quietly.  “I wanted to see her.  But some stuff went down this year, and I didn’t want to be around her until I was…the kind of guy who should be around her.”  He glanced self-consciously at Kurt and frowned, and Kurt looked away.  “I’m good now, though.  I mean.  I’ve got my sh--stuff together.”  
  
“He joined the Celibacy Club.”  
  
“ _Dude_.”  Kurt bit back a yelp when Puck punched him in the arm, and then gestured at his car keys on the desk and pointed at him in a warning.  
  
Through the speaker, Ms. Corcoran laughed.  “I can respect that.”  And she started to say more, but stopped at the unmistakable sound of a baby fussing.  
  
Puck’s eyes sparked with something, his hand fisting in Kurt’s comforter.  In a subdued voice that sounded like someone else, he said, “Is that her?”  
  
“Yeah,” Ms. Corcoran said, her tone gentle.  “She’s been trying to wrestle the phone away from me this whole time, can’t stand it when she can’t get at something.  Here.”  There was a click, and she sounded a little farther away.  “I’ve got you on speaker, if you want to say anything.”  
  
Puck’s face washed with panic.  He gaped a second, then hissed to Kurt, “What do I say?”  
  
Kurt definitely didn’t know the answer to that.  He shook his head and gave the simplest answer he could.  “Say hello.”  
  
Puck shot him a ‘gee, thanks’ look and cleared his throat again.  “…Hey,” he said at last, a little lamely.  “Hi.  Uh.”  He swallowed hard.  “Can she hear?”  
  
Ms. Corcoran was laughing again.  “She’s trying to figure out where your voice is coming from.  Come here, Bethie, can you say something for your daddy?”  A pause.  “Oh, of course now she gets shy.  Hold on a second, I’ve got this.”   
  
Her voice dropped and cooed something Kurt couldn’t quite make out, and then a high, bubbling laugh rang through the speaker.  
  
A surprised laugh shuddered out of Puck, too, the unchecked wonder in his face so genuine that any misgivings Kurt might have had about helping him melted away.  
  
There was a smile in Ms. Corcoran’s voice when it became audible again.  “You get all that?”  
  
“Yeah,” Puck said, his voice shaking a little even though he was still smiling huge and warm, and Kurt wondered if this was what Mercedes was talking about when she had tried to describe the change that had swept over him in the delivery room the day Beth was born.  
  
“She’ll never turn down the Tickle Monster,” Ms. Corcoran said.  “All right.  Well, you guys have my address.   You can park across the street.  Anything else you want to know?”  
  
Puck’s usefulness for the rest of this conversation seemed to have vanished the second he heard Beth, so Kurt took over.  “Is there anything he should bring with him?”  
  
“Just himself, I think.  Either of you play any instruments, by chance?  She loves music.  Can’t get enough of it.”  
  
A smile crept onto Kurt’s face, and he felt strangely proud, even though he really had no reason to be.  “Noah can bring his guitar.  He’s really good.”  
  
He ignored Puck’s lifted eyebrow and read off the address she’d given them to make sure he had it right.  
  
“Sounds good.  I’ll see you on Wednesday,” she said, and then, her voice turning sugary again, “Bethie, can you say ‘bye-bye?’”  
  
A second, and then a tiny, sweet voice echoed, “Bye-bye?”  
  
Kurt laughed with Ms. Corcoran this time and said goodbye, followed, quietly, by Puck.  The line went dead, and Kurt hung up, rather impressed with all of them for not turning the call into a disaster.  “That…went well.  And I mean that with no irony whatsoever,” he said, smiling hopefully towards Puck.  
  
Who was not smiling.  
  
Who, in fact, looked much closer to crying.  
  
Kurt could hardly draw breath to ask before Puck snapped, “The hell are you looking at?”  
  
“Nothing,” Kurt said immediately, looking politely away while Puck stretched a hand over his eyes and took deep breaths.  
  
“Just,” Puck said after a moment, sniffing hard, “fuck.  That was _her_.”  
  
Kurt stayed silent, because Weepy Puck was something he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with.  
  
That seemed to be an acceptable response, though, because after another few seconds, Puck rubbed at his face and wiped it on his sweats.  Taking a steadying breath, Puck said, “That never happened.”  
  
Kurt rolled his eyes and deadpanned, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
After an appropriate number of seconds had passed, Kurt turned back around to face him.  “So.  Here’s what happens now.  I am going to make a list.  It will be a long list, and on it will be everything you are and are not allowed to wear, say, do, and think when meeting the adopted mother of your child.  _You_ are going to stop looking so offended, unless you’ve forgotten that up until twenty minutes ago you were referring to her solely as ‘the MILF,’ and you are going to take this list, without complaining, and read it.  Exhaustively.  And so help me, if you are not following every single one of the dress code rules when you step out of your house on Wednesday at two-thirty sharp, I will get out of my car, _chase_ you back into your house, and proceed to pick out your clothes for you like a three-year-old.  Keeping up?”  
  
“I can do this without you gaying me up, Hummel.”  
  
“Oh, so you’d prefer to walk, then?”  
  
Puck slouched and glared.  “Fine, jeeze.  You’re worse than my Nana.”  
  
Kurt pulled out a pad and paper.  “Trust me, you’ll thank me.”  
  
Then Kurt’s dad knocked on the door before heading to the shop, and Puck dove under the bed so fast that Kurt had to wonder how much practice he had at hiding from unsuspecting fathers.  
  
-  
  
After Puck had collapsed back on the couch, one coffee table away from a snoring people-pile comprised of Mike, Sam, and a barely-visible Artie, Kurt took pity on the lot of them and busied himself with whipping up a few jock-worthy stacks of blueberry pancakes with lean bacon on the side.  Mike floated in at noon, when the bacon was cooking, followed a moment later by Sam with Artie, and then Finn thumped down the stairs, and Kurt felt a little bad when they woke up Puck yet again with an emphatic, “Dude, _bacon_!”  
  
(Apparently, bacon in any form was the key to earning more sleepy boy-hugs than he knew what to do with.  It was also the key to making Finn forget all about any odd dreams he might have had regarding suspicious conversations on the porch at four a.m.)  
  
-  
  
Puck didn’t thank Kurt for his guidance, but he did at least listen.  When he emerged from his house Wednesday with his guitar case slung over his shoulder, his jeans were unripped, his shoes were clean, and his shirt was one of the three ‘moneymakers,’ as Kurt had referred to them on the list (before he started getting weird, wary looks for knowing more about Puck’s wardrobe than Puck did), a button-down that Kurt remembered from his Rachel Berry stint sophomore year.  
  
He shot Kurt a glare that dared him to criticize as he got in the passenger side, and Kurt simply lifted his eyebrows and shifted his car into gear with an approving, “Hm.”  
  
“Yeah.  _What_.”  
  
“He can be taught.  Color me impressed.”  
  
“Damn straight.”  
  
Kurt handed Puck the list of directions to Ms. Corcoran’s house and let him act as navigator, and the first few minutes of the drive were quiet.  When he dared a glance at the passenger seat, Kurt found Puck’s face set in a frown, his fingers tapping nervously on his leg.  
  
Biting his lip, Kurt went out on a limb and hoped it would help distract Puck, rather than make it worse.  “I forgot to mention.  Finn saw us on the porch the other night.”  
  
Puck’s head whipped toward Kurt.  “What’d you tell him?”  
  
“How ridiculous it would be for me to be on a porch with you at four in the morning.  I still haven’t quite forgiven you for that, by the way.”  Puck rolled his eyes.  “I think I managed to convince him he’d dreamed it, or at least use enough polysyllabic words to make him give up.”  
  
Puck snorted.  “Figures.”  
  
“Just be extra careful around him,” Kurt said.  “He’s had a lot of distractions from Babygate this last year, but even so, I’m not entirely convinced he’s over it.  I don’t want to be a part of anything that would hurt him.”  
  
“You think I want him in on this?  Last time that happened, I got punched in the face like eight times.  Guy can take a lot of shit, but push him too far and he Hulks out hardcore.”  
  
“Oh, I know.”  
  
Puck barked a laugh, sudden and sharp.  “Bet you do.  Damn.”  
  
Kurt sighed, rolling his eyes.  “Yes, I’m a depraved serial stalker of innocent straight boys, with severe boundary issues and zero personal restraint, blah, blah, blah.  I’ve heard it enough, so don’t bother.”  
  
“ _Whoa_.  Easy, princess, that wasn’t what I was gonna say.”  
  
“Oh, this should be good.”  
  
“So you made goo-goo eyes at him for like six months and he wasn’t feeling it.  Big deal.  I hit on chicks who think they’re not into me all the time.  Chase and pounce, miss, keep chasing.  It’s a lifestyle.  Hell, I’m still trying to figure out how to tap Co-Chang.”  
  
Kurt choked on air and nearly swerved off the road.  “ _Tina_?  As in _our_ Tina?”  
  
Puck shrugged, leaning back in the seat with an elbow against the door.  “She’s the only chick in glee I haven’t had my mouth on.  Lauren’s not putting out, might as well go for the gold.”  
  
“Oh my God.  I am not hearing this.”  
  
“Come on, gay or no, you’ve gotta admit her body’s smokin’.”  
  
“She is a lovely, self-respecting, extremely _taken_ individual.”  
  
“Well, _yeah_.  Chang’s a frickin’ ninja.  Him and Lauren are the only reasons I haven’t made my move.”  
  
“That’s neither racist nor disturbing,” Kurt said airily under his breath.  
  
“Point is,” Puck said, “following Hudson around and working some shit in your favor so he might figure out he’s into you?  Not even a thing.  You may be a chick in your head, but you’re a dude in your pants.  It’s how we operate.  So quit spazzing out.”  
  
Kurt’s mouth hung open for a solid minute as he tried to decide whether to be utterly offended or utterly touched.  
  
Slowly, he said, “That…might be the most horrifying show of support anyone has ever given me.”  
  
Puck lifted an eyebrow.  
  
They came to a red light, and Kurt turned to him, still frowning.  “Thank you.”  
  
“Whatever.”  
  
The light turned green.  
  
-  
  
Ten nearly silent minutes later, they were slowing to a stop on the side of the street, right across from the address Ms. Corcoran had given.  Kurt looked between the directions and the house, double-checked, then sat back.  “Here we are.”  
  
Puck had managed to work his nerves back up in the silence, and now had gone rigid in his seat.  Looking more closely, Kurt wasn’t entirely sure he was breathing.  
  
He turned around in his seat.  Gently, he said, “Noah.  You’ll be fine.  If you love that little girl half as much as you say you do, then all you have to do is show that, and both she and Ms. Corcoran will adore you.”  
  
Puck lowered his eyes and took a deep, deep breath.  Then he set his jaw, muttered something unintelligible and self-motivating, and got out of the car.  
  
Kurt couldn’t help but smile a little proudly as Puck got his guitar out of the backseat, and he rolled down his window as Puck came around the other side.  “So, just send me a text when you’re ready to be picked up,” he said.  “I’ll be in the area, so it won’t take more than five minutes.”  
  
Puck stopped dead.  "Whoa, where the hell do you think you're going?"  
  
"To the mall...?" Kurt said slowly.  "Wasn’t that the plan?  I figured you would want some…I don’t know, privacy."  
  
"Are you kidding?  I'm about to go see my kid for the first time since she was _born_ , right in front of Berry's _mom_ , who did the same thing to her that Quinn did to Beth.  You can't leave me."  
  
"You--"  Kurt looked at the front door, then back at Puck, who had doubled back and was now leaning hard on his car door, gripping it with both hands where the window was down.  "You want me to go with you?  As in, inside?"  
  
"Well, I'm sure as hell not gonna let you _bail_."  
  
"What happened to the whole 'chauffer' thing?"  
  
"Fuck, just--"  Puck pushed away from his door and walked around in a circle in the street, gathering himself, before facing Kurt again.  "Please."  
  
Well.  
  
Swallowing, Kurt rolled up the window and turned off the engine.  
  
Walking up to the front door with a suddenly subdued (but, at the very least, well-dressed) Puck was nothing if not surreal.  It was a nice house.  Nondescript.  The door was dark blue.  They stopped in front of it, and after a glance at Puck, who seemed to have frozen in his position, Kurt reached in front of him to ring the doorbell.  
  
Puck jerked as though the bell had a direct line to his nervous system, muttered a curse, and turned to leave, but Kurt caught him by the arm and pulled him back.  "You're okay."  
  
He let go, and footsteps padded closer from inside, accompanied by Ms. Corcoran’s voice murmuring in that gentle, animated tone that meant she had to be talking to the baby.  The lock clicked, and the door opened.  
  
Ms. Corcoran regarded them, and she looked as marvelous as Kurt remembered her, tall and put-together, if a little warmer of face and a lot lighter on sleep.  And blinking owlishly in her arms was a dark-haired, almond-eyed little creature who could not be anyone but Beth.  
  
Puck looked at her with that same expression of wonder that had crossed his face the first time he heard her laugh, and she stared curiously back at him with eyes just as wide, and she looked more like him than Kurt had imagined she could.  
  
Ms. Corcoran looked between the two of them, then caught Kurt’s eye and smiled.  
  
-  
  
Thirty minutes later, he was sitting in Shelby’s living room (and she had insisted that Kurt drop the formalities and call her Shelby), curled in an easy chair while she sat on the couch, a big binder next to her and her laptop open.  Puck had bypassed the furniture completely and dropped down right next to Beth on the floor, utterly entranced as he watched her play with a brightly-colored playset.  
  
“I’m still not sure if the blue’s going to stay,” Shelby was saying, typing something out and clicking.  “The doctors and the internet say that babies’ eye color usually evens out around twelve months, but her hair color was a surprise, too, and I swear they’ve still been getting darker this last month.  I’m betting on hazel.”  
  
“Well, she’s lovely,” Kurt said, and he meant it, because he thought kids were just darling as long as he wasn’t forced to touch, smell, or interact with them.  “And I have to commend you on this outfit choice for her.  That mauve is just perfect with her skin tone.”  
  
Shelby grinned.  “Thanks.  I’m making most of her clothes, actually.  Gives me something to do when I need a break from job hunting,” she said, patting her laptop.  “There are some crazy pieces in there, but I figure if I can’t dress her up like a couture baby doll now, when can I, right?”  
  
Oh, Kurt liked this woman.  “I couldn’t agree more.”  
  
Beth pointed to a stray piece from her playset and declared, “Ba!”  
  
Puck picked it up, then clasped it between his hands and separated them into loose fists, holding them out with a tentative grin.  “Take your pick.”  
  
She looked between them, then at him, then back, and then pounced on his right hand, prying at it with both of hers.  He laughed and opened it, revealing her toy, and she made a pleased peep and took it.  Then she tossed it away again.  Pointed.  “ _Ba_ _!_ ”  
  
Kurt shook his attention away, not wanting to embarrass Puck and break the spell.  “So, are you looking for another job in show choir direction, or are you hoping to branch out?”  
  
“Definitely branching out,” Shelby said, smiling big and warm when Puck had Beth guess again.  This time she picked the empty hand, squeaked, “Uh-oh!” and then squealed with laughter when Puck tickled her with it.  “Though staying in my show-choir-director box would probably be a lot more fruitful, considering that my five-year stint as director of Vocal Adrenaline is the highlight of my resume.”  
  
When Beth threw the toy a third time, it bounced off Shelby’s leg.  “Be careful, please,” she warned her.  “Anyway.  I’m actually hoping to get involved with one of the costume companies we used for the show choir, see if I can do some work in design.  I made that piece for Rachel last year, and it reminded me how much I missed making clothes.”  
  
She paused, the topic of Rachel making the air a little thick, and Kurt quickly tried to push past it.  “Is…that your portfolio, by chance?” he asked, nodding at the binder, and she nodded.  A swell of excitement rose in his chest.  “May I?”  
  
“They’re mostly just sketches,” Shelby said, handing it over.  “Nothing too exciting.”  
  
He opened the binder and began to flip through, and with each page his eyes opened a little bit wider, because _look at that rouching_.  “Oh my God,” he murmured, flipping to the next design, and the next.  “Oh my _God_.”  
  
“I sure hope those are good ‘oh-my-god’s,” Shelby said, and Kurt nodded so hard his neck hurt.  
  
He paused on the eighth page, not quite able to close his mouth.  “I…I need this jacket.”  Shelby laughed, and he shook his head.  “ _No_.  You don’t understand.  I _need_ this jacket.  This tailoring is inspired.  I think I’m honestly freaking out right now.”  
  
“Well, you know,” she said, a pleased grin on her face, “I used to recruit volunteers from Vocal Adrenaline to model some of my stuff on a one-to-one basis, see how danceable it was.  Obviously that’s not happening anymore, and you’re about the right height, so if you guys have any plans on coming back--”  
  
“Yes,” Kurt blurted, at the same moment that Puck interrupted, “ _Yeah_.”  
  
Beth clapped with delight at their coordination.  
  
Puck cleared his throat, shying back a little.  “I mean.  If that’s cool.  Not the modeling thing, I mean…to see her.”  
  
Shelby nodded, and Kurt nearly whooped for both of them.  “You’re obviously a hit with her,” she said, nodding pointedly at where Beth was determinedly pushing herself to her feet and moving in Puck’s direction.  Beth stopped and braced her hands on his legs, studying him.  He looked back, then puffed out his cheeks, making her shriek with laughter.  
  
(And if a laugh happened to bubble out of Kurt, too, it was merely because he wasn’t used to Puck being silly.  Not because his level of maturity was equivalent to a thirteen-month-old.)  
  
“I, on the other hand,” Kurt piped up, “am entirely for modeling.  By all means.  Put me to work.”  
  
Before Shelby could respond, Kurt’s phone buzzed with a text.  Blaine, it said when he glanced at it.  
  
 _> > **Blaine:** Hey you, what are you up to?? :)_  
  
Kurt smiled, probably just this side of goofy, and he glanced up when Shelby said knowingly, “Uh-oh, I know that look.  Someone special?”  
  
“My boyfriend,” he said, quickly opening a reply.  “He’s got a job performing at Six Flags this summer, which is totally not a surprise.  He’s amazing,” he added, maybe a little breathlessly.  
  
“Dude.  Gag me with a stick.--Oof!”  
  
Beth squealed and clapped.  
  
 _> > **You:** Missing you, of course.  Also kicking Puckerman. :)d_  
  
“Big performer, huh?” Shelby said.  “Anyone I know?”  
  
Puck snorted.  “‘Big’s not the word.  Kid’s even more of a shrimp than this guy.”  
  
“I beg your pardon?”  
  
“So you finally had your growth spurt, you’re _almost_ the second shortest dude in glee club now.  Where you want your trophy delivered?”  
  
 _> > **Blaine:** Lol aww, what’d he do?_  
  
Kurt rolled his eyes and turned toward Shelby, ignoring Puck in the hope of stifling the urge to kick him again.  “He’s the main soloist for the Dalton Academy Warblers.”  
  
Shelby’s eyebrows shot up.  “You’re not talking about Blaine Anderson, are you?”  Kurt nodded, beaming, and she hummed with interest, setting Beth in her lap when the baby leaned on her legs and reached up.  “I was trying to recruit him for Vocal Adrenaline for ages, but his parents wouldn’t have it.  Then he transferred, and those Warblers protect their soloists like the Secret Service.  But by then it was Goolsby’s problem.”  
  
 _> > **You:** Let’s just say I was defending your honor. ;) Why are you not telling me EVERYTHING about Six Flags like ten minutes ago?_  
  
“It’s for the better,” Kurt assured her, smiling down at his phone.  “Those boys are more passive-aggressive than Desperate Housewives.  David would go Karate Kid on anyone who got too close, and in the meantime Thad probably would have found a way to poison Dakota Stanley’s coffee as a warning.”  After a moment, he added thoughtfully, “Wes would know where to hide the body.  He tends to just know things that people shouldn’t know.”  
  
>> **You:** Also, what are the chances that Wes would be versed in rival choreographer assassination procedures?  
  
“What are you telling him?” Puck asked, suddenly looking over his shoulder, and Kurt clicked his tongue and held the phone away from him, even as it buzzed again.  
  
 _> > **Blaine:** You know, I bet he would actually be really good at hiding bodies…oh :( But I like Mr. Shoe…_  
  
“That is _definitely_ none of your business.  Play with your baby.”  
  
 _> > **You:** Schue, honey.  Schue. :P_  
  
“She’s busy.  And it is my business if my name’s in there.  I saw it.”  
  
Kurt shot a frown at Puck before finally catching on.  He and Puck had talked about keeping this a secret from the rest of the glee club.  The topic of Blaine hadn’t come up.  
  
He glanced at Shelby, who was distracted with Beth, then turned back to Puck and murmured, “Nothing specific.  You don’t want me to?”  
  
“What the hell do you think?” Puck shot back, equally hushed.  “He’s been Rachel’s gay best friend ever since they sucked face at that party--”  
  
“Do not speak of that aberration in my presence.”  
  
“--so I don’t care if he’s your boy toy, he’s out.  Got me?”  
  
Kurt hesitated, looking at Puck for a long moment and then glancing at his phone when it buzzed back.  
  
 _> > **Blaine:** Same thing. :P  And no, had enough 6 flags to last me all week, orientation + 1st rehearsals=my untimely death. :( Just…ugh.  You should tell me what YOU’RE doing so I can pretend my legs are still attached. :Dd What are you doing with Puck, anyway?_  
  
“Guys, I’ve got to take little missy here for a diaper change.  She gets pretty fussy for that lately, so it might be a minute,” Shelby said, and Kurt nodded on both of their behalf.  
  
And he took a moment.  Because if they were going to keep coming here, these visits were going to stop being a secret and start being a Secret, and the last time he’d had a Secret thrown at him, the first person he’d turned to was Blaine.  (Though, thinking about it now, that probably hadn’t been his most considerate choice.)  It was one of the things they’d worked out at the beginning: no secrets.  Secrets were divisive and messy and nowhere close to what either of them wanted.  
  
But.  
  
There was that whole thing where Blaine felt the need to _tell_ people things.  Like telling Kurt’s father to give him a _sex talk_ (and, with remarkably atrocious timing, introducing himself as Kurt’s boyfriend no more than eight days later).  If he felt like this was something Rachel should know, he would tell her, and then think about it later.  
  
Meeting Puck’s eyes again, Kurt sighed, shaking his head.  “Fine.”  
  
Puck gave a stiff nod.  “Good.”  
  
 _> > **You:** Helping Puck out with a girl situation.  Because apparently I’m now the go-to guy for these things.  Le sigh._  
  
Sending the text, Kurt thought guiltily that at least it wasn’t technically a lie.  
  
-  
  
The plan had been that they stay until it was Beth’s naptime again, and Kurt almost made it through without leaving the happy comfort zone of sitting in the most comfortable chair ever and chatting with Shelby.  It was really a nice arrangement for everyone: Puck was so enthralled with Beth (and she with her new playmate) that the two of them spent most of the afternoon in their own little world, playing nonsense games and having snacks, Puck tickling her and entertaining her and lifting her into the air.  Shelby checked job listings online in the meantime, Kurt sighing over her portfolio all the while.  And if it had all stayed that way, that would have been just peachy.  
  
But then he got back in the room after a bathroom break, and Shelby had noticed that they had been there for nearly four hours, and Kurt and Beth had yet to get properly acquainted.  
  
“Oh no,” Kurt said quickly, holding up his hands.  “I, um.  Shouldn’t.”  
  
Shelby lifted an eyebrow, amused.  “You have held a baby before, haven’t you?”  
  
 _No, they’re tiny and grabby and they drool and spit up and have poorly-timed bowel movements and touch disgusting things and then want to touch_ me _and I always make them cry so please for the love of God no,_ was what he wanted to say.  
  
Aloud, he said, “Not so much.  And I’m completely okay with that.  More than okay.  Really.”  
  
“Seriously?” Puck said, and Shelby was bringing Beth over, and oh crap.  
  
"No, really,” he insisted, doing everything in his power not to back away, “I'm an only child, and I'm bad with anything messy and/or loud, and I have this horrible tendency to make small children cry just by existing, so I really shouldn't be allowed anywhere remotely nea--oookay."  It wouldn't have made sense to ramble anymore, because quite suddenly he was holding a baby.  
  
Kurt stared at Beth for a second, holding her awkwardly at an arm's length.  "Um."  
  
"Dude, you suck at this," Puck said with a snort.  Shelby laughed and guided him into holding her more naturally up against his chest, Beth’s fingers immediately curling into his shirt ( _oh God, oh God, oh God, those had better be freshly washed_ ).  Once they were situated, Shelby stepped back and Kurt looked warily at his charge, who blinked sleepily back at him.  Then her face screwed, and she began to whine.  
  
"Oh, no."  Kurt looked helplessly to Shelby.  "I told you, I have a negative effect on children.  Um, you should probably--"  
  
"She likes it if you bounce her," Shelby said.  
  
"...She won't throw up on me, will she?  I may have punched a few people in the face to get this cardigan."  
  
She smiled again with a humoring slant.  "It's safe, don't worry."  
  
Beth's whining grew more insistent, and Kurt winced, suddenly very aware of Puck leaning against the wall and watching him make his baby cry.  "Right.  Okay then.  I'll just..."  He began to gently bounce with her, feeling a little silly and about as far out of his element as he had felt singing Mellencamp.  
  
Curiously, though, after about fifteen seconds of his bouncing and silent panicking, Beth's cries got a little softer, a little fewer and farther between.  Her head drooped for a long time, and then a chubby cheek pressed to his shoulder, and--wow.  
  
"Huh," Kurt breathed, a little proud of himself, but also a little scared to stop moving.  
  
"My girl knows when it's naptime," Shelby said, smiling, then turned to Puck.  "Want to come put her down?"  
  
"Cool," Puck said softly.  He stood and stepped close, and Kurt very carefully deposited Beth in his arms.  He gave Kurt a look he couldn't quite read--probably the 'thanks for not breaking my baby' look--and then followed Shelby down the hall to Beth's nursery.  
  
Kurt flopped back into the easy chair.  Thank God he couldn’t get Blaine pregnant.  
  
-  
  
That night, long after dropping Puck off at home ( _“Next week, same time.  You’re still down, right?”_ ), and helping Carole with dinner, and letting Finn rope him into a few rounds of Halo, Kurt crashed in bed, only for his phone to buzz not ten seconds later.  
  
 _> > **Puck:** didnt evn use guitar 2day, wtf do babies evn like_  
  
Kurt flopped onto his back, holding his phone up and blinking slowly at it before replying.  
  
 _> > **You:** Hilarious that you think I’m the baby expert here.  What did your mom sing to you when you were little?_  
  
 _> > **Puck:** fuckin shalom chaverim. lame as hell. askin u cuz u know girly songs n who the hell else am i gonna ask_  
  
 _> > **You:** The fact that she’s a girl doesn’t require that the songs be ‘girly.’ Sing what is a) appropriate and b) meaningful to you.  Or c) adorable.  My dad sang me Mellencamp when I was little.  My mom sang me Rodgers  & Hammerstein. Use your imagination._  
  
A beat.  
  
 _> > **Puck:** dude like what tho??_  
  
Kurt sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, counted to ten, and replied.  
  
Forty-five minutes and a full twenty-song ‘playtime playlist’ later, he jammed _Omg GOOD NIGHT NOAH_ into his phone and practically tossed it onto the bedside table, collapsing back onto his pillow.  
  
He could only imagine what the rest of the summer would shape up to be.  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Puck comes to Kurt for help, and Kurt figures it can’t hurt to do a friend a favor.  Unfortunately, everything is more complicated when there’s a baby involved.

At one fifteen on the fourth Monday of June, Finn made Kurt’s world spin backwards for a second.

True to form, Finn managed this feat entirely on accident, through the change of one word as he was rushing out the door.  Kurt hadn’t even looked up from the laundry he was helping Carole fold while his dad loaded the dishwasher in the kitchen, because this wasn’t a surprise; Finn had been at Rachel’s beck and call all summer, determined not to make any more mistakes with her.  Apparently punctuality was crucial.

It happened so fast that Kurt almost missed it.

"See you, Mom," Finn said quickly, half-hopping into his other shoe at the door, then called, "See you, Dad!"

Kurt’s eyes snapped up.

The door shut.

-

Pulling her mouth away from her straw and looking suspiciously over the tops of her sunglasses, Mercedes said, “Spill.”

“Spill what?”

“You know what.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Mercedes, just because Finn and I are comfortable enough to wrestle each other for the remote, it does not mean I have any ‘stories’ to tell for your twisted entertainment.  That ship has sailed.”

“Ha, ha.”  Mercedes leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms.  “How’re you and Blaine doing?”

Kurt chose to ignore the shade of accusation in her tone.  “As well as can be expected when we’re five hours apart.  Thank Gaga for unlimited texting.”  She continued to regard him, and he lifted an eyebrow.  “Should my palms be sweating right now?”

“Could be.  You’re not getting too _lonely_ without him around?”

“Well, there are these fits of hysterical crying now and then, but I’m also still coming to terms with the fact that the last Harry Potter movie ended my childhood, so…”

“And you’re keeping busy now that Rachel’s damn near kidnapped Finn and Project Runway’s on hiatus?”

“I’d think that would be obvious, considering that I’m sitting in a mall food court with you.”

“And you’ve been disappearing to where every Wednesday this month?”

Kurt opened his mouth.  Then he shut it.

“Ha!” Mercedes snapped, pitching forward and pointing at him.  “I knew it.  Boy, I swear to Jesus who is the _Lord_ , if you’re dipping your toes in someone else’s jacuzzi while Blaine’s out of town, I don’t know if I’ll be more mad that you’re playing that boy or that you didn’t _tell_ me, but either way you are gonna get _slapped_.”

Kurt took a moment to shake that off.  “Mercedes, why on earth would I cheat on him?  Blaine and I are fine.”

“I thought so, too.  How come you didn’t answer about where you always go?”

Kurt groaned, looking heavenward.  “It’s…Mercedes, it’s private, okay?  Not for me,” he added at her affronted glare.  “I’m helping someone with a personal matter, and it isn’t my matter to share.”

“Again?”

“Yes.  And no, it’s not Sam again.”  At her flat expression, Kurt backpedaled, grinning sheepishly.  “But, of course, you would know that.  How is he, by the way?”

“Peachy.  Quit changing the subject.  Anybody else I know?”

“Yes, and that’s all I have to say on the matter.”

“Girl or guy?”

“Mercedes…”

She gasped.  “It _is_ a guy!”  She paused, frowned.  “Tell me it’s not Karofsky.”

Kurt choked a little on his lemonade.  “Pardon?”

“You don’t seriously think no one noticed when you Friended him on Facebook last month, do you?  And he definitely Liked that status of yours last week when you were talking about that engine you wanted to soup up at your dad’s shop.”

Kurt huffed a breath, rubbing his temples.  “I will tell you that yes, it is a guy, and no, it is not David.  And _no_ , I am most certainly not cheating on Blaine.  But I _really, really_ can’t tell you more than that, Mercedes.  Okay?”

He gave her his best pouty-face, and she opened her mouth to reply, but closed it again when Tina pulled out the third chair, taking her bag from where it had been saving her seat.  “That took forever, sorry!” she said, but a conspiratorial smile was already spreading across her face.  “But I was so right.  That store clerk has a friend who has a cousin who has a boyfriend whose brother knows the owner of this _awesome_ Gothic Lolita novelty shop in Columbus.  We have to go.  Can we go?  Please let’s go.”

She hit them with a pouty-face of her own, and goodness, he’d taught her well.  “Could I ever say no to that face?  Or, more importantly, to novelty clothing stores?”

Tina laughed, and Mercedes rolled her eyes.  “All right, in.”

“Yes!  When should we go?”

Mercedes kept her eyes on Kurt.  “How about Wednesday?”

Kurt narrowed his eyes ever so slightly in her direction, resting his chin on his hand.  “How about not?”

“I’m good for any day except Friday,” Tina said, tapping a message into her phone.  “Mike’s taking me to Breadstix to make up for spending all last weekend playing Halo with Artie and Puck.”

“And Finn,” Kurt volunteered, only flashing on that frozen moment yesterday for a second before pushing it to the back of his mind.  “He just hasn’t been talking about it because that would require admitting that his Halo skills are about on par with his dancing skills.  It’s a coordination thing.”

“Mike said he wouldn’t have stayed the whole time, but he wanted to keep an eye on Puck.”

“Oh lord, what did he do now?”

“Nothing yet, we think,” Tina said slowly, putting her phone down.  “Mike just said he seemed really distracted.”

“Hell, as long as it’s not another baby, I say he can be as distracted as he wants,” Mercedes said, and Tina laughed with her.

Kurt didn’t.

Carefully, he asked, “What kind of father do you think he would be?”

“Ooh,” Tina said, thinking only a moment before saying, “Rock star dad.  Definitely.  Like, the really cool dad everyone wishes they had until something serious happens and he…freaks out and drives a car through a gas station.”

“Honestly?” Mercedes said.  “I think he _could_ be all right.  Just because I was in there when he saw that baby for the first time, and he looked like he would climb up to the moon and drag it straight down to the ground if she asked for it.  But this is also the guy who got caught watching Paris Hilton’s sex tape with Lauren in the middle of the school library.”

“Maybe that’s what’s wrong,” Tina said thoughtfully.  “I heard Lauren and her mom are spending the summer following her sister’s roller derby team around the country.  Maybe he’s lonely.”  Her eyebrows shot up.  “Maybe we should invite him along for bowling next week.”

Kurt quickly reached across the table to pat Tina’s hand.  “Maybe stay away from Puckerman for a little while.”

“We can worry about him later,” Mercedes said.  “Can we just plan this trip sometime before we graduate?”

Kurt’s phone buzzed, and he glanced at it while the two of them went back to planning.

_> > **Puck:** im yours by jason whatshisfuck. to weird? its got that ur so hot i melted line but th rest is ok_

Glancing up again, Kurt tuned in just long enough to nod his approval.  “Thursday, noon.  This shopping trip is happening.”

Tina made a sound that could only be described as a squeal, and Kurt’s attention dropped back to his phone.

_> > **You:** Try replacing ‘hot’ with ‘sweet.’  It doesn’t make total sense, but I don’t think she’ll mind._

“What’s that smile about, Mr. Hummel?”

Kurt thought quickly and turned the smile to Mercedes, plastering it on tight.  “Blaine says hi.”

“Aww,” Tina cooed, and Kurt rolled his eyes.  “Tell him we send kisses.”

“Kisses from everyone and a polite handshake from Rachel.  Got it.”

_> > **Puck:** sweet tht wrks good call_

_> > **You:** It’s what I do. See you tomorrow._

-

Here are the things Kurt knows now that he did not know a month ago:

He knows that when necessary, he is good--though not great--at lying to his friends.

He knows that he is not entirely the disaster with children that he assumed he would be, but that prolonged exposure to them will still probably be what gives him the heart attack he’s convinced he’s going to have at age thirty.

(He knows that he was _born_ to model Shelby Corcoran’s costume designs.)

He knows that Elizabeth Abigail Corcoran loves to dance when her daddy plays the guitar, and that her middle name means “Joy of the Father,” not because her mother is religious, but because her mother saw the way her daddy looked at her that day in the hospital.

And he knows that Noah Puckerman is so many people at once that it’s absolutely dizzying, and that between Noah and Puckzilla and Daddy, only two seem able to exist at the same time.  One of these pairs is familiar.  One of them is heartbreaking.  One of them, Kurt hopes he will never meet.

What he doesn’t know--what he never knows--is which one Puck will be whenever they drive away from Shelby and Beth, back toward Mercedes and Finn, without the comfort of Lauren or Blaine.

But then they spend twenty minutes strapped into the same space, and that’s all it really takes for Kurt to find out.  

-

While Shelby replaced the DVD of Vocal Adrenaline’s 2008 victory with a new one, marked 2009, and while Puck was strumming idly on his guitar and watching Beth  scoot a toy car along the floor, Kurt stared at his phone and read the conversation he’d had with Finn for the millionth time.

It had happened exactly three seconds after Finn had pulled out of the driveway after “Dad” had left his mouth (and Kurt knew this because the clock had ticked exactly three times before there was a distant sound of screeching brakes).  A moment, and he had gotten the text.

_> > **Finn:** omg i didnt even know i was doing it i didnt mean to n i just kinda almost died i think im freaking out omg r u mad??_

Kurt had let out his breath, and it had stuttered a little like a laugh, because _Finn_.  Catching Carole's glance, he had held up his phone to assure her that Finn hadn’t totaled the car.

_> > **You:** For goodness' sake, don't hurt yourself.  I'm not mad.  Please don't drive into a pole._

_> > **Finn:** r u sure bc half the tiem u say ur ok its cuz ur not n i wont do it again if ur not_

His dad and Carole were exchanging touched, incredulous murmurs, and Kurt had shaken his head at his phone, remembering again why he'd loved him.

_> > **You:** I'm fine, sweetie. Promise. Use your turn signal and look both ways when you start the car again, ok?_

_> > **Finn:** dude i know how to drive i just got freaked out :(_

_> > **You:** I know. Btw, I think you made his day. :)_

_> > **Finn:** .....so its ok if i. ukno. call him that?_

_> > **You:** Totally ok._

_> > **Finn:** ...k_

_> > **Finn:** thanks_

_> > **Finn:** :)_

_> > **You:** :)_

_> > **Finn:** n its ok if u call my mom mom to, thats totly cool_

_> > **Finn:** but u dont have to_

_> > **Finn:** but u can_

_> > **You:** Noted. You're so late for Rachel now, btw._

_> > **Finn:** OMG_

At the end of the block, an engine had hummed to life again.

_> > **You:** See you for dinner! xoxo_

He was going to have to be careful, he decided as he put his phone away.  Apparently his text-voice got annoyingly chipper when he was in a panic.

And he would have been fine.  He would have.  If Finn hadn’t been his stupidly sweet self and given him permission to call Carole…something she wasn’t.

No.  Something she _was_.  But really, really wasn’t.

He had hoped that coming here would distract him from the noise in his head, but so far it was only accomplishing the opposite.  Watching Shelby with Beth made home movies play in his mind, the ones he and his dad pulled out every year at Christmas and Mother’s Day and November 28th.  It made him think of mothers, and what it meant to be one, and what it meant to have one, and what it meant to watch one slip away.

In his mind, he watched a version of himself even smaller than Beth, rocked in the arms of the most beautiful woman in the world while she softly sang, _“Edelweiss, edelweiss…”_

Beth’s stuffed Tigger bounced off his head, jerking his mind back so hard that he nearly fell off the couch.

When he looked in the direction it had come from, Puck was looking back at him, his eyes narrowed in a frown.  “What’s your problem today, Hummel?”

Kurt absently handed Tigger to Beth when she wobbled up to lean on his leg.  “Nothing.”

And that was not the correct answer.  The correct answer, he knew about two seconds later, would have been, ‘Other than the deplorable state of those jeans?  Nothing at all,’ or ’Did you honestly just resort to your infant daughter’s methods for getting attention?’ or  ‘Just reminded that Rachel had the nerve to say Blaine was anything at all like Jesse St. James.  It’s a quiet rage, don’t worry.’  Something mildly witty and unimportant that would pass between Puck’s ears like white noise.  Anything but ‘Nothing.’

Puck’s frown deepened, but then Beth, bless her, found Puck’s leg and started banging on it, declaring, “Da, da, _da_!”

It was so close to ‘ _Dada_ ’ that Puck’s eyes lit up, and Kurt smiled.  As well as he could, he tried to let his thoughts go.

In spite of himself (and sometimes in spite of Puck), Kurt had started really looking forward to the Wednesday afternoons he would spend sitting in the living room at Shelby’s, just watching Puck and Beth play.  It had been a wonderful day last week when they had walked through the door and Beth had toddled straight up to Puck, braced herself on his legs, and looked up at him with an expression of wonder.  Puck hadn’t even pretended that hadn’t nearly brought him to tears before sweeping her up in his arms and over his head, making her squeal with ‘s delight.

Shelby was terribly generous about the time they spent there, though Kurt had to wonder if she was just happy to have a break.  He was starting to think of her as a sophisticated, far too fabulous long-lost aunt, and while it was rare that she shared all that much about herself, it turned out that the two of them could go three hours straight without running out of things to talk about, whether the focus was designer baby clothes or Judy Garland’s lost scenes from _Annie, Get Your Gun!_ or show choir pecking orders.  (And if she let him play dress-up with clothes that made him drool, well, that was just frosting.)

What had surprised Kurt more than anything, though, was the distressingly sweet goofball Puck turned into whenever he was around his daughter.  Based on some of the faces he made and the sounds that came out of his mouth, Kurt was ninety percent sure that Puck had usually forgotten he was there.  Kurt had never thought he’d see the day when snack time would arrive and the self-proclaimed ‘Puckasaurus’ would utter the words, “Num-num time, Bethie-boo!”

(Kurt had worked so hard not to burst out laughing that he was pretty sure he’d actually pulled something.)

Since their second visit, Puck had made sure to pull out his guitar every time, and secretly, Kurt adored this almost as much as Beth did.  He didn’t say it out loud, but he kind of loved it when Puck sang to her.  His face would be open--and, he’d be honest, very handsome without its usual smug smirk or scowl--and his voice would be soft, and his song choices, when they ventured away from “The Itsy-Bitsy Spider,” were pleasantly different from his usual repertoire.  When he had pulled out “1234” by the Plain White Ts, Kurt had maybe gotten a little swoony and felt guilty for the rest of the day.

And Kurt’s one-on-one time with Beth was pretty limited, which was just fine.  He was just a helper here, really, an all-purpose safety blanket for both Shelby and Puck, and he was perfectly content to observe, and take extensive notes on these DVDs of Vocal Adrenaline’s past shows, and maybe indulge Beth with a silly face if she stared at him for too long.

They would leave as soon as Beth was down for her afternoon nap, and Puck had gotten in the habit of singing her to sleep, almost always with the same Kiss song, her namesake.  

Kurt had never gone in the nursery with him and Shelby for this part, feeling like his presence would be an intrusion, something that didn’t belong there.  It was the combination of Noah and Daddy at its strongest, and Kurt didn’t want to break into their little bubble and be the reminder of the rest of the world.  But today, naptime came while he and Shelby were in the middle of a congenial debate about appropriate levels of uniformity in show choir costumes, and he went with them almost without thinking about it, because he couldn’t just let her leave the room still thinking she was right.

Puck disappeared for a quick bathroom run, and just a moment later, Shelby’s phone rang in the kitchen.  “Oh, that could be Dahlia Design,” she said.  “I just applied with them last week.  Will you be okay with her for a minute?”

“Yeah,” Kurt said, still feeling quiet, and she went to answer the phone.  He stood for a moment in the dimness of the room, only a bit of sunlight filtering in through the blinds, and looked into the crib.  Beth looked curiously back at him, and he smiled a little, because she really was a sweet little thing.  Her eyes were hazel today.

After a moment, she made a small noise, and then another one, a little louder.  Her brow furrowed, and oh crap, she was getting fussy again.  Kurt looked around the room a little helplessly, then grimaced when she let out a loud whine.  He quickly shushed her, gently placing a hand on her tummy, to no avail.

“Okay.  You like singing.  I can do singing,” he muttered, half to himself.  He cleared his throat, and after fighting with himself for just a second, he opened his mouth and set free the [song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tVyxL6AsziA) that had been echoing in his mind since Monday.

After a moment, she began to calm down, but she still looked wide awake, staring at him as though amazed that such a sound could be coming from his mouth.  _You wouldn’t be the first one, kid_ , he thought a bit wryly, but scrunched his fingers against her tummy and just left his arm draped into the crib, finishing the first verse and moving into the bridge.

His index finger just brushed her palm as he moved, and her fingers curled tightly around it.  Kurt’s eyes widened.  Warmth lifted in his chest, and maybe this was the feeling parents were always talking about.

“Blossom of snow, may you bloom and grow,” he went on, leaning a bit more on the crib and letting her hold on to his finger as the guitar strummed under his voice.  “Bloom and grow forever…”  Wait, guitar?

Kurt only turned his head a little, and he glimpsed Puck sitting on the toy box with his guitar just in the corner of his eye.  Kurt’s face flushed and he turned back to the crib, softly continuing the verse.

He couldn’t count how many times he had listened to every version of this song he could find, ever since he was eight.  When he had insomnia attacks and had tried every other possible solution, this was the song he would play in his head, in his mother’s voice--she hadn’t been a singer herself, and it was filled with wobbly notes and unintentional key changes, but it was perfect.

The night after her funeral, he had played the song on repeat in his CD player for hours.  He still listened to it now and then, but only with the knowledge that the sadness wouldn’t be far behind.  Even after the truly wonderful evening of his father’s wedding, he had said good-night to Finn and retreated into the spare room with his iPod, opened all his mother’s dresser drawers, and played it over and over, crying a little, sending silent reassurances to her through space and time.

But today, he was calm.  The room was cool, and the guitar was clear.  The world’s sweetest little girl was holding onto his finger with sleepy eyes.  Everything was okay.

By the time he finished the last verse and Puck gave a final strum, Beth was sound asleep, her fingers loosening away from his.  Kurt carefully pulled his arm out of the crib and straightened up.  He wasn’t sure what to expect when he finally turned around, but all Puck did was gesture with his head toward the open door, outside which Kurt could just see a sliver of Shelby’s foot.  Kurt nodded, throwing one more fond glance at Beth before joining Shelby in the hall.  Behind him, Puck’s footsteps moved to the crib, right where Kurt had stood, and there was the softest sound as he pressed a kiss to his daughter’s brow.

“You’re good,” Shelby said after Puck had closed the door.  “Sound of Music really works for you.”

Kurt smiled a little.  “It was my mom’s favorite.  She sang it to me when I was little.  And I find it entirely possible that I was a Von Trapp in a previous life.”

Shelby smiled, but didn’t laugh, her face having shifted a bit when he mentioned his mother.

Puck looked at the clock as they returned to the living room and scowled a little, which Kurt had learned meant it was time to go or face his mother’s Jewish wrath, as Puck called it.  Kurt automatically took his bag off the coat tree and slung it over his shoulder.  “Thank you, as always, for a lovely afternoon,” he said while Puck put his guitar back in its case.

“No problem, Shelby said.  “You guys are turning out to be quite the babysitters.  You wouldn’t be looking for a summer job, would you, Kurt?”

Kurt surprised himself with an abrupt laugh and held up a hand to decline.  “Just because I can sing children to sleep doesn’t mean I don’t still find them terrifying.  And I fill in the gaps at my dad’s auto-shop during the summers, so.”

“Too bad.”

They were almost out the door before Kurt remembered why she could only ask him, and not Puck.

The drive back to Puck’s house was very quiet.  Puck slouched back with an arm hanging out the window, looking pensive, and Kurt left the radio off.

At length, he quietly admitted, “I wouldn’t have expected you to know that song.”

Puck shrugged.  “If there’s Nazis in it, my mom’ll make us watch it.”  He frowned at nothing.  “But don’t expect me to be busting out Fiddler on the Roof just ’cause it’s king of the Jew-tunes.  Tevye’s funny shit, but I’ve got boundaries.”

Kurt laughed just a little, an exhale.  “Duly noted.”

When they arrived, Puck sat for a bit, silent until Kurt was opening his mouth to ask if their plans had changed.  Without looking at him, Puck said, “What was your mom like?”

And Kurt’s brain reeled for a second, because that was one of those questions that people just didn’t ask him.  Ever.

Puck was patient until Kurt found his voice.  “She liked mint chocolate chip ice cream.”  He blinked after it came out of his mouth, because _really, brain?_   He shook his head and just went with it.  “It was her favorite.  Some days in the summer, we would just sit outside with two spoons and a tub of it, watch the cars go by.”

He almost added that she even asked for it when she was in the hospital and could barely keep down anything else, but it stopped and evaporated in his throat.  Instead, he went on, “She sang all the time.”

“She good?” Puck asked, and he was Noah right now, Puckzilla being quiet, the last wisps of Daddy holding on tight to Shelby’s doorstep.

Kurt shook his head.  “Not particularly.  But she loved it, so she did it anyway.  It didn’t matter if other people liked it or not.”  A grin tugged at his mouth.  “My dad had a bad day at work once, and she just kept singing ‘Get Happy’ and dancing with him until he laughed.”

This was what she was in his memory: she was moments, short and sharp and bright, and she was smells and echoes and arms.  She was the world around her, his dad laughing so hard that he had to sit down, a burst of mint from an ice cream tub, a lilting and beautiful song.

“Wings perfume,” he was saying now, his mouth just sort of floating along with his mind.  “That’s what she wore.  Wings.  Never a lot of it, though.”  When he got home, he was going to go straight to that broken dresser in the spare room and just breathe.  “My dad and I got her a deluxe pack of it for her last birthday.”

Puck stayed quiet, and Kurt quietly went out on a limb.  “What was your dad like?”

He was Noah and not Puckzilla right now, and so Kurt didn’t get snapped at.  Puck just shrugged, sullen.  “Kind of an ass.”

“Mm.”

A beat, and then, in a mumble, “Funny as hell, though.  Guy could make me shoot Mountain Dew out my nose like a boss.”

Kurt smiled a little.  “Did he play?” he asked, glancing at the guitar case in the back.

Puck shook his head.  “That’s mine.  Only thing he played was poker.  Taught me everything he knew.”

“Does…does he ever--”

Jaw tight, Puck shook his head again.

Kurt bit his lip, hesitating, then decided to brave it.  “Hypothetically.  If your mom ever remarried, and it was someone really great, who you liked a lot…do you think you would ever call him ‘Dad?’”

“Hell no,” Puck said almost before Kurt had finished, meeting his gaze for the first time since that moment in the nursery, frowning deep.  “I don’t care if my old man might as well have croaked when I was twelve, for all I hear from him.  He’s it.  Everything that’s good about it, everything that sucks about it.  It’s not some name you can just throw around.”

“Words have tempers,” Kurt agreed in a murmur, thinking of a movie he saw once, and shook his head when Puck frowned at him.  “Sorry.  _Phoebe in Wonderland_.”

“So what,” Puck said, leaning back, “the fam trying to get you to bust out the M-word with Finn’s mom?”

Kurt shook his head, closing his eyes a second and feeling a little stupid for bringing it up.  “No, just.  Finn said ‘Dad’ on Monday, for the first time.  On accident, I’m certain.  But he hasn’t switched back.  And he sort of…gave me his blessing to use ‘the M-word’ on Carole and…I don’t think I can.”

“Then don’t.  Problem solved.”

“I know.”  Kurt sighed.  “But now…God, I think I’m actually jealous.  It sounded so natural.  ‘Mom and Dad.’  I can’t remember the last time I got to say that, and I hate that I’m this selfish about it, because Finn has _never_ been able to say it.  And now he is, which just proves how committed he is to this family we’re trying to be.  Both my dad and Carole refer to both of us as their sons.  So that leaves me as the only one who can’t talk about us like we’re a real family, and I don’t know what that says about me, but I don’t like whatever it is.”

“It _says_ you’re not gonna jump in and do something that makes you want to hurl just because everyone else is doing it.  Big whoop.  I thought that was your thing.”

“I suppose,” Kurt murmured, still frowning at the dashboard.

They were quiet a little longer before Puck made a face.  “What the hell is _Phoebe in Wonderland_?”

“Independent film.  It’s about a little girl with a mental illness.  She doesn’t feel like she can function correctly in the world except when she’s on stage, playing Alice.”

Puck snorted.  “Downer.”

“It’s very well done.  Dakota Fanning’s little sister.”

“There’s another one?  Sweet.  D-Fann grew up hot.”

Kurt wrinkled his nose.  “Let’s not.”  Then, hesitantly.  “Thanks, though.  For listening.”

Puck shrugged, putting a wall up as Puckzilla crept through to join Noah.  “Whatever.”  He opened the door and pulled his guitar out of the back.  “See you around.”

Kurt nodded.  “Watch yourself around the other guys.  Apparently Mike is getting concerned that you’re distracted.”

“Kid notices everything,” Puck muttered under his breath.  He shut the door.  “I got it handled.”

Kurt sighed.  “I certainly hope so.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Puck comes to Kurt for help, and Kurt figures it can’t hurt to do a friend a favor.  Unfortunately, everything is more complicated when there’s a baby involved.

They were Shelby’s idea, the photos.  She had brought it up out of the blue, asking if either of them had camera-phones, then giving her total permission to snap some pictures or take some video if they liked.

“She’s growing so fast, and I know you would spend more time with her if you could,” she had said, aiming it at Puck.  “As long as I’m not seeing anything posted up on the internet, it might be a good idea to capture some memories.”

Kurt had smiled with triumph on Puck’s behalf, because it was the first time Shelby had really showed some faith in him as a father figure to her daughter.  When he had looked at Puck, though, he had found a tense, wary expression that only lasted a moment before smoothing.

He had meant to ask what that look was about in the car on the way home, but it had slipped his mind.  In any case, whatever reservations Puck had held seemed to be long gone now.

“All right, got her.  Snap it, Hummel.”

Kurt took one look and couldn’t hold back a noise that was equal parts amusement and dismay.  “Noah Puckerman, what on earth have you done to that poor child?”

“Made her hardcore, that’s what.  Come on, she’s getting all wiggly.”

Sighing, Kurt pulled out his phone and aimed.  “I won’t even ask how you got her hair like that.”

“Dude, come on, I’m the ‘Hawk-master.  Give a guy some credit.”  Puck wiggled his fingers a little against Beth’s sides, making her shriek a laugh, and Kurt snapped the picture just as her smile got huge, chuckling a little in spite of himself.

After a second, Beth reappeared on his screen with that smile, the dark wisps of her hair combed up into a tiny faux-hawk and her face half-hidden by Puck’s huge sunglasses.  He’d even caught Puck laughing as he posed her with his Rock Band guitar, capturing one of those moments where she looked like no one’s child but his.

“Got it.”

-

And as July stretched on, that’s how it was: Kurt drove, and chatted, and laughed, and snapped pictures, and occasionally wondered if this made him and Puckerman…kind of friends.

Because, at least within the walls of Shelby’s house, they really kind of were.  Beth was a bridge between them, creating a space where it wasn’t so strange to do simple things like laugh in front of each other or debate about movies (“Dude, you didn’t say the reason you like that _Wonderland_ movie is ‘cause you’re in it.”  “Hilarious, Puckerman--wait.  You _watched_ it?”), or sing together.  

That had been a big step, the singing together.  But it was for her, so somehow, that made it okay.

(Even when it was Tenacious D, which resulted in Kurt’s palm becoming all but surgically attached to his face.  But Beth had loved it, and the harmonies were easy, and Puck’s demon-voice for ‘Tribute‘ had made Kurt actually _snort_ into his hand.)

Which was another thing--just as Beth seemed to break down the thick layers around Puck, leaving just this enamored, animated boy he’d only seen in glimpses before, being there was starting to do things to Kurt, too.  He was the first to admit that he could be a particularly heinous brand of snob, but here, he felt kind of okay hamming it up with ridiculous songs.  On the rare occasion that Beth would come to him instead of Puck or Shelby, it was almost natural now to take her hands in his and swing them to do a little dance with her, or even hold her for a while and coo at her in French (Puck could roll his eyes all he wanted, but early cultural exposure was important).

She was a ridiculously happy baby.  That, he supposed, didn’t hurt anything.

And so the house became a strange, safe little bubble away from the world.  He and Puck never talked about school there, the start of which was creeping steadily nearer with each week.  Finn, Quinn, and Rachel were immediately taboo.  Blaine and Lauren came up, but only occasionally.  Shelby had initiated one conversation about college applications, but as a rule they really didn’t talk about the past or the future.  Their conversations stayed right there, in that bubble, because--at least, as Kurt saw it--it was the only place that they were these particular people, the boys who sang to Beth.  The rest of the world could wait until they were back in the car, slipping back into the versions of themselves that didn’t fit with each other quite so well.

“So I hear you scored an invite to Gladies’ Night on Friday.”

“Gladies’ Night?”

“Glee-Ladies’ Night.”

“I gathered that much.  Our portmanteaux are slipping.”

“Dude, cut the French crap.  She’s not here.”

Kurt paused as he rounded the corner, middling for a moment before slowing down at a yellow light, because they almost never mentioned Beth outside that house.  The car was neutral territory, though, so he supposed he shouldn’t be that surprised.

“Do I want to know how you know about this party?”

“I’m the Puckmeister.  I make it my business to know.”

“Charming.  What about it?”

“Just keep a lid on it about this stuff.”  Puck glared right back when Kurt shot him a flat stare, because really.  “And send me all the pictures from your phone.  Then delete them.  Got it?”

“Your faith in my ability to keep a secret is staggering, Puckerman.  Really.”

“ _Dude._ ”

Kurt sighed.  “Yes, Noah, I will send you all the evidence and then destroy it.  Would you like to join me after so we can sand off our fingerprints and delete our birth certificates?”

“Dude, quit being a bitch.  I know how chicks work at sleepovers, I’ve been spying on those since I was ten.  Stealing your phone to see what you’re sexting to your boy?  Standard procedure.”

“Gross, Puckerman.  Blaine and I do not sext.  Some people in the world are not that crass.  I know it’s hard for you to imagine.”

“Psh, yeah, right.  Like the Garglers practices weren’t just one big gay orgy every week.”

“ _Warblers_ , and a world of no.”

“ ‘Ohh nooo, I can’t hit that super-girly note!  Blaaaine, help me!’ “

“Oh my God, I do _not_ sound like that.”

“ ‘No worries, Kurt.  _I_ know a way to make you scream.’ “

Kurt’s voice came out in something like a squawk, and he took a hand off the wheel to punch Puck in the arm.  “ _Stop_ that!”

“ ‘But Blaaaine, how can you help when you’re so short?’ “

“Noah Puckerman, I swear to _God_.”

“ ‘Oh, just let me slip out of my hipster-pants, baby.  I’m not short _every_ where.’ “

The brakes actually screeched a little when Kurt stopped the car in front of Puck’s house, his face burning and his mouth sort of gaping.  “Out.  _Now_.”

And because the world hated him, his phone chose that moment to buzz with a text from its place in the cup-holder, the screen flashing clearly with ‘ _Blaine_.’

Puck barked a laugh, and Kurt practically dove for the phone, snatching it up before Puck could, holding it as far out of reach as possible and pointing at Puck in a warning.  “ _No_.  Shut up.  No.  Go home and kiss your mother and get your mind _out_ of my boyfriend’s pants.”  Puck snorted, but opened the door nonetheless, going in the back to get his guitar while Kurt let out his breath in a huff and willed his face to cool down.

“ _‘Blaaaine…’_ “

“I _will_ destroy you.”

Puck chuckled in earnest from the backseat, bumping a fist against the back of Kurt’s headrest, and it was all Kurt could do not to actually smack him.  “Remember.  Pics.  Send and destroy.”

“If I can get over the trauma of this conversation, I _might_ remember to.”

“Dude.”

Kurt sighed, meeting his eyes in the rear-view mirror.  “I’ll do it when I get home.”

“That’s more like it.”

“Watch it.”

“Don’t sext anything I wouldn’t sext.”

“Things I _never_ want to think of again, Item Number Two.  I’m driving away now.”

“Wait, what’s Number One?”

“See _never want to think of again_.  Suffice to say there are some things parents should not _ever_ be allowed to do.”

“ _Dude_.”

“Enjoy.”

-

Kurt decided never to let Puck know that he was right.  They were hardly into the second movie when Santana announced, “I’m bored,” and snatched up his phone before he could even put down the nail polish without spilling it.  “Let’s see what you and Berry-with-a-dick have been up to.”

“Santana--Brit, sweetie, move your feet, I need to get up--Santana, that’s none of your business--”

“Bite me.  Here we go…”

“Santana--”

She brushed him off when he tried to snatch it from her, snorting.  “Like you could take me.  We all know I’m a beast and you sweat glitter.”

“Irrelevant, I don’t sweat.  Give me my phone.”

“Oh, just let her,” Mercedes said.  “If you’ve got something juicy in there, we’re gonna find out eventually.”

Kurt huffed and sat back down, mentally patting himself on the back for deleting his recent text history with Puck along with the photos (but annoyed nonetheless).  “We’re encouraging her behavior now?”

“Please.  Like _dis_ couraging it wouldn’t make me twice as likely to do it.”  She made a face as she clicked through.  “Wow.  So that’s what you’re compensating for with that Gaga-on-crack costume collection of yours.  You might be the most boring gay alive.”

“Because I’m not spouting off twisted sexual fantasies to my boyfriend via text message?  I’ll take boring.”

“No.  Seriously.  What the hell is this?  ‘Rival choreographer assassination procedures?’”  Rachel gasped, then looked strangely calculating, and Mercedes swatted her in the arm and shook her head.  Santana tossed him an unabashedly judgmental stare.  “Either you’re going to be a boring virgin forever, or this is the worst dirty talk I’ve ever seen.”

“Bored yet?” Kurt tried in deadpan, holding out a hand for his phone, but Santana only shot him a smile, devilishly sweet.

“Oh, sweetie.  Why be bored when I can entertain myself?”

Kurt only started to process how scary that response was before Santana said, “Brit-Brit, cuddle with Kurt.  He’s lonely.”

“Wha--ACK.”  Suddenly he was flat on his back with an armful of giggling Brittany, and Santana was punching something into his phone.  “What…Santana, _no_.  Don’t you _dare_ sext my boyfriend!”

“What do you think sounds more Kurt, ladies?  ‘Cock,’ ‘hot meat,’ or ‘disco stick?’--Never mind, answered my own question.”

“ _Santana!_ ”  He tried to sit up, but then a laughing Tina piled on with Brittany, making him hit the floor again with a grunt.  “Mercedes,” he pleaded, bristling when all she did was cover a guilty laugh with her hand.

Quinn rolled her eyes.  “Santana, for goodness’ sake, give Kurt his phone back.  Not everyone sees sex as a means to a good relationship.”

“I never said I wouldn’t give it back.”  Santana’s voice was sugary sweet, and he tried his damnedest to kick her.  “Watch it, Boy George.  Wouldn’t want me to get creative with your kinks, now, would you?”  Kurt groaned, accepting his fate, and Santana daintily pressed what he knew was ‘Send.’  Tina patted him fondly on the head and got up, followed by Brittany, with some coaxing, and Santana tossed the phone back to him.  “Congratulations.  You’re now one step closer to freedom from the Lame Brigade.”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Kurt huffed, immediately clicking through to find what she’d sent, but of course she had already deleted it.  “What did you say to him?!”

She shrugged, leaning back on Brittany’s shoulder.  “Don’t remember.”

Kurt shrugged off Mercedes’s hand on his back as he typed a hasty _IGNORE THAT TEXT_ and sent it.  Glaring at her, he said, “We’re fighting.”

“Come on, baby, you got to admit that was funny.”

“I do not,” he clipped back, explaining in a longer text how the abomination was sent against his will, then crawled over to cuddle with Quinn, pouting.  “He thinks I’m a gross sex freak now.”

Quinn laughed, stroking his hair.  “No, he doesn’t.”

“He thinks I refer to my penis as a disco stick.”

“Is it because it’s sparkly?” Brittany asked.

“Only if you put it in the sun, Brit,” Santana said with a smirk, and Kurt turned his face into Quinn’s shoulder and groaned.

His phone buzzed.

Rachel’s Oscar room went quiet with a collective gasp, and Kurt winced, scared to look.  “Go on, you’ll be fine,” Quinn said, giving him a nudge, and he held his breath and peeked at the screen with one eye.

_> > **Blaine:** So…you were just sext-ually assaulted? :x_

Kurt nearly thumped his head on the floor.

-

By the end of the fourth movie, it was stupidly early in the morning, and everyone was asleep except him and Quinn, still curled together off to the side.  As the night had gone on, they had gradually sunk from sitting up with their backs against the couch to pretty much horizontal on her sleeping bag, and she had plastered herself to his side under his arm.

It was strange.  Ever since he’d had his growth spurt, the girls in his life had seemed to find cuddling with him much more appealing.  And it made him feel more…manly, almost, because Finn and Sam and Mike had all held them just like this.

He was just drifting off when Quinn softly said, “I think it’s sweet.  That you and Blaine are waiting.”

Kurt hummed back, lowering his eyes.  “It’s mostly for me.”

“Still, it’s sweet that he’s waiting for you to be ready.  I was going to wait, too.”  Her voice went down another notch.  “I wish I had.”

Kurt ran the backs of his fingers gently between her shoulderblades.  “I know you would have.”

“It’s harder than people think.  Being responsible about things like that,” she murmured.  “We’re seventeen.  What’s wrong with the world when people give us a hard time for wanting a loving relationship without jumping into sex, but no one bats an eye when Santana and Puckerman talk about all of their ‘conquests?’”  She let out a staggered breath.  “I still can’t believe I was one of his.”

“You really don’t think he ever cared about you?”

“I think,” Quinn said slowly, pensively, “that he cared about his child.  And for a while, that meant caring about me.  So he did.  But what I believe is that it was never about me.  It was about her.”

Kurt fought with himself a while before speaking again, because this was very, very sensitive territory.  Carefully, he said, “Do you ever think about her?”

She curled up a little more, almost hiding.  “I try not to.  Not now that I’ve finally got my life back.”  Some of her hair slipped over her face, and Kurt gently moved it away.  “Not everything is back the way it was.  But people are finally starting to forget that I was that stupid, irresponsible girl.  The kind of girl who would cheat on her boyfriend, and get herself knocked up by the school bad-boy, and manipulate a sweet guy who would have done anything for her.  That isn’t me.”  She shook her head against Kurt’s shoulder.  “I don’t need any reminders of that girl.  I know the baby is safe, and that I did the right thing by making sure Puckerman and I stay out of her life.  I need it to stay that way.”

Kurt sucked in his breath, willing his heart not to thud faster under her ear.

“It’s the one good thing he’s given me since she was born,” Quinn whispered, tracing a button on Kurt’s pajama shirt.  “Even if he did go straight back to making stupid choices and only caring about himself in every other aspect of his life, it means a lot to me that he respected my wishes on that.”

Kurt gave her a squeeze that he hoped seemed reassuring, guilt gnawing at him so hard his stomach was starting to hurt.

After Quinn’s breath had evened and slowed, Kurt breathed into her hair, looked for a while at Rachel curled in the chair across the room, then stared at the ceiling, his mind turning, turning.

-

He didn’t tell Puck about that conversation, but it would hit him later that he probably should have.

Especially that next Wednesday, when Puck started prodding, badgering, wheedling, and generally acting like a hyperactive eight-year-old from the second he got in the car.

“So they swipe your phone?”

“I’m not talking about the party.”

“Called it.  Twenty bucks says it was Santana.”

“I’m not talking about the party.”

“Wait--shit.  Dude, did you get rid of all the texts?”

“Yes.  You’re welcome.”

“Oh.  Sweet.  So what’d you do?”

“Noah.”

“Anyone make out?”

Kurt turned a narrow-eyed stare on him.  “How’s Lauren doing?”

“Dude, shut up, she’s not in town.  They say anything about me?”

Kurt sighed, his face and voice going flat.  “Yes, Noah.  You’re all they could talk about.  Honestly, when they were making out with me, the _comparisons_.  Just ceaseless.  Well, you know.  Except Tina.”

When he glanced over, Puck’s eyes had gone narrow and worryingly calculating, and Kurt sighed.  “I’m _not talking about the party_ , Noah.  Girl time is sacred.  Gay boys like myself understand and respect this.”

Puck rolled his eyes and slouched back.  “Way to be totally lame.  You could sell dirt like that to guys like me and be filthy rich in no time.”

“And _that_ , Noah, is why guys like _me_ are taken on shopping trips and bestowed the trusted, if unfortunate role of Assistant Bra Fitter.  And guys like _you_ get to hound me for details about it until the end of time, because my lips are sealed.”

“Dude.  You’re totally not lying about that part, are you?”

“Hm...”

“No.  No way, you can’t leave me hanging now, Hummel.  I’ve gotta know.”

“Hm?  Know what?”

And in the sulking silence after that, Kurt should have brought it up.  ‘I had a conversation with Quinn.’  That is all he would have had to say, and then Puck would ask about it, and Kurt would tell him.  Then Puck would have at least some idea of the guilt that was still creeping through his system over it, and be aware that that guilt could possibly lead to him making poor speaking choices.

He didn’t.

Beth was feeling mellow that afternoon, and was perfectly content to sit in Puck’s lap and watch Baby Einstein while he cooed at her in some seriously ridiculous voices.  In the meantime, Kurt got to bedazzle.

He got to sit in the comfiest chair in existence, stretch out a freshly-sewn, dizzyingly chic, _expensive_ -looking summer jacket on his lap, and _bedazzle it_.

When Shelby had asked for his help, it should not have taken that much restraint to keep from blurting out, “I love you.”

And so he was very much In The Zone, methodically placing each piece by shape, size, color, and overall picture, when Shelby said, “So you guys are going to be starting school again in a couple weeks, aren’t you?”

“Sadly, yes,” Kurt murmured, speaking for both Puck and himself as had become the custom when talking to Shelby.  “I mean, I’m looking forward to parts of it.  Mostly glee club.”  He broke his laser-focus for a moment, frowning.  “Actually, just glee club.”

Shelby spared him a sympathetic laugh over her ironing board.  “That bad, huh?”

“One of my most recent experiences there was being voted Prom Queen in front of the whole school.  Suffice to say I’m not overly anxious to go back.”

“Oh, that’s terrible.”  She shook her head.  “Honestly, I wonder about McKinley sometimes.  No offense.”

“Oh, no.  We all wonder about McKinley.”

“Well, at least you kids in New Directions seem like a pretty tight group.  I’ve seen how you rally around each other.  I can’t imagine what those doctors were thinking about ten teenagers in matching costumes sitting in the waiting room while they delivered Beth.”  She smiled, and Kurt’s throat closed for a second because this was getting very close to one of those things they Did Not Talk About here.  “I think it’s great how you support each other.  Vocal Adrenaline got so big by the end that it was nearly impossible to build that kind of trust.”

Trust.  Quinn murmuring to him in the dark.  Rachel looking at him with bright eyes on a Broadway stage.  Finn hugging him tight.

That look on Puck’s face when Kurt put Beth back in his arms.

“Kurt?”

He jumped, dropping the bead onto his lap.  “What?”

Shelby was looking at him with a quirked eyebrow, amused.  “You seem distracted.”

“No,” he said, sort of hating his voice for jumping up an octave every time he was nervous.  He cleared his throat.  “Just school-thoughts.  They have that effect on me.”

“Sorry I brought it up.”

“Not at all.  Honestly, some of my biggest issues from last year have been resolved, so I dare say senior year is looking somewhat promising.”  And then it spilled out of his mouth right on the heels of that last word, possibly one of the worst things he could say in his present company, becoming the truth before he even knew it was.

“I’m going to miss coming here, though.”

The second it was out of his mouth, Puck’s head snapped toward him, and he realized he had made a mistake.

Shelby was quiet a bit, looking between them, then said, “We’ll miss you guys being here.”

‘You guys.’  So if he wasn’t here, she didn’t want Puck to be here, either.

Puck was abnormally quiet for the rest of the visit, just holding Beth and pressing his lips to the top of her head while she clapped along with Baby Einstein.  Kurt only watched him nervously for a moment before dropping his eyes to the jacket in his lap and leaving them there.

Okay.  That was stupid.

It was stupid, but it was…it was right.  Wasn’t it?

He hadn’t known what he had thought would happen when the summer was over, and it wasn’t until it was already out there that he realized that this had to have an end.  It had to, because this was hurting people, even if they didn’t know it.  Because Shelby was trying to start up her life again, and it wouldn’t be fair to root her here.

Because they couldn’t just…keep doing this, could they?

It was when Beth was asleep, and they were out the door and across the street, that Puck finally opened his mouth.

“What the hell was that, Hummel?”

Kurt tried not to cringe, because that wasn’t just anger in his voice, but hurt.

Mostly, though, it was anger.

“I’m sorry, I guess I just assumed this was temporary.  Unless you aren’t planning to start school again in two weeks?”  Kurt focused carefully on his own hands unlocking the door, knowing better than to fully engage.  The worries that had been ricocheting between his ears began spilling out again, coming out colder than he meant them because otherwise they would just sound guilty.  “Is the new plan, ‘follow Shelby Corcoran on her job hunt and hope she’s still comfortable babysitting a toddler _and_ a teenager so you can get what you want?’  Because unless you plan on spending your college years in a jail cell for child abduction or breach of your adoption contract, that would be your only option--”

He cut himself off with a gasp when Puck grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, shoving his back against the car door, making the edges of his vision burst with white and his lungs seize in a moment of panic, because his body remembered this.  “Don’t _tell_ me what I can and can’t do!  That’s _not_ your call.”

Kurt took a shaky breath, his gaze landing over Puck’s shoulder, on a shadow at the window.  “She’s watching.”

Puck glowered at him from six inches away, then released him with another shove.  He didn’t move back.  “You don’t get to decide that shit, Hummel.  Beth is _my_ kid.  I’m her _dad_.  Who the hell are you?!”

“How about the reason you’re able to come here and _be_ her dad?” Kurt shot back, his mind’s memory catching up with his body’s and making his walls fly up tight, his voice go cold.  “Or the one who’s lying to his best friends, and his family, and his boyfriend, just so _you_ won’t have to face the consequences of what this would do to the people you supposedly care about?  Or maybe the one who has sacrificed a _sizeable_ portion of his own money to pay for nearly an extra _hour’s_ worth of gas every week, without complaint, mind you--”

“You got a problem, _fucking_ say it.”

Kurt stared straight back into Puck’s eyes--dark and livid and just _heartbroken_ \--and took a slow, silent breath.  “Get in the car,” he said, forcing his voice to lower and calm.  “I’m not saying anything to you when you look this ready to hit me.”

He held Puck’s gaze a moment longer, unable to read much past the anger, then silently stepped away to open his door.  Finally, Puck moved, stalking around the car and throwing open the passenger door.  Once he was in, Kurt started the engine.

Before pulling away from the curb, Kurt looked Puck in the eye.  “Touch me like that again and I am out of this.  Consider that your warning.”

He faced forward and shifted into Drive without waiting for a reply.  When he stopped in front of the Puckerman house after twenty minutes of thick silence, broken only by the buzz of a text Kurt didn’t answer, Puck snatched up his guitar and left without a word.

Kurt didn’t look at his phone until he was back in his own driveway, feeling restless and drained.

_> > **Shelby Corcoran:** Is everything okay, Kurt?_

He dropped his forehead to the steering wheel and breathed, pretending he was nowhere for a little bit before opening his eyes again and promising her that everything was fine.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Puck comes to Kurt for help, and Kurt figures it can’t hurt to do a friend a favor.  Unfortunately, everything is more complicated when there’s a baby involved.

By the end of the week, Kurt was certain beyond argument that he was a Terrible Person.  
  
He was terrible for hurting Puck and single-handedly cutting him off from the little girl he loved with all his heart.  
  
He was terrible for hurting Quinn, and Rachel, and Finn, and being too ashamed to admit it to them.  
  
He was terrible for lying to his best friend.  Even more terrible for lying to his unsuspecting boyfriend.  
  
He was terrible for making it stupidly obvious to his family that he was miserable when he went inside after Shelby’s, and for the awful lie he made up about having had an argument with Blaine, and for how weakly he protested when his dad immediately took his side.  
  
More than anything, he was terrible because when he’d been sitting alone on the couch after dinner that night, and Finn had dropped down next to him and just silently slung an arm around his shoulders, he had leaned right into that embrace and stayed there until the Food Network Star reruns ended, even though the real reason he was upset was something that would hurt Finn much more.  
  
He was despicable.  
  
So when his dad had asked if he’d be willing to give up one of his busy Saturdays and help out in the shop while Steve was on vacation, he had agreed, enthusiastically, because he might as well do something good for _someone_.  
  
Which is why Saturday afternoon found him buried under the hood of a Toyota Celica in his coveralls, replacing an alternator in the engine and not even humming to himself.  For the moment, he was absolutely okay with being invisible.  
  
So when the heavy, hesitant footsteps came close and stopped off to the side, and he glimpsed only a well-worn pair of sneakers from his angle, he barely thought.  “If you’re here for parts, you can talk to Mr. Hummel at the front desk,” he murmured automatically, pushing his voice a little lower the way he always found himself doing when he was working here, sharply focused on fixing the new alternator into place.  “Otherwise, if you would wait in the reception area, someone will be with you as soon as--”  
  
A wad of bills was flung in front of his face, landing on top of the oil filter.  Kurt paused, startled, then wiped his hands on his coveralls and straightened up.  
  
Puck stood at a few feet’s distance, hunched and sullen, his hands shoved in his pockets.  Kurt breathed silently in and out, and waited.  
  
“That’s what I’ve got left from pool cleaning and Sheets N’ Things,” Puck said at last.  “I did the math.  It’ll cover gas for all six trips, plus next time.”  
  
Next time.  
  
Well, then.  
  
Kurt picked up the bills, looked back at Puck, and sighed.  “I don’t need your money, Noah.  I was just making a point.”  
  
“No shit,” Puck growled, but seemed to catch himself, his gaze sliding to the floor.  “Still.”  
  
Kurt eyed him a bit longer, then turned away and called, “Dad, I’m taking fifteen.”  
  
“Gotcha.  Larry, finish up with that alternator on the Celica, will ya?”  
  
Kurt nodded toward the back exit, and Puck followed him out to the employee parking lot.  Once there, Kurt situated himself against the wall while Puck looked anywhere but at him and shifted from foot to foot.  
  
He looked so uncomfortable that Kurt tamped down his pride.  He clasped his hands behind his back and leveled his gaze.  “I owe you an apology.”  
  
Puck’s eyes snapped up and glinted with something like surprise before sliding away again.  
  
“It wasn’t my place to assume anything about your relationship with Beth, or what your intentions were for the future with her.  You were right, that wasn’t my call to make.  So I’m sorry.”  
  
Puck stayed quiet, his gaze fastened to the ground.  “Whatever.”  
  
“That said, I do think that you _need_ to start thinking about it.  Now, not later.  We can bounce some ideas off of Shelby on Wednesday, see what your options are.  But you need to have a plan.”  
  
Relief flashed across Puck’s face at the word ’Wednesday’ before it closed up again.  “Just leave it.  I’ll figure something out.”  
  
“No.  Not about this.  This is too important, Noah.  If you still want me to be a part of it, then you know my terms.”  
  
Puck rolled his eyes, but the tension in his shoulders was nearly gone.  “Fine.  Whatever.  I’ll draw up a game plan.”  
  
“And…”  
  
“And I’ll talk to her, all right?  Damn.”  
  
Kurt nodded.  “All right, then.”  
  
Puck leaned on the dumpster by the door as the tension began to float away.  “So you’re still fucked up, huh?”  
  
“I beg your pardon?”  
  
“Wednesday.  I barely touched you, and you like had a ‘Nam flashback.”  His tone, still sullen, seemed caught somewhere between guilt and accusation.  “I haven’t messed with you in ages.  Thought we were cool.”  
  
Kurt fought not to shrink back, and instead crossed his arms over his chest.  “Yes, well.  We mostly are.”  
  
“Dude, I’ve been like your fucking stealth bodyguard all year.  What the hell’s a guy gotta do?”  
  
“Nothing,” Kurt said, meeting his eyes because that was true and Puck needed to know it.  “Other than curbing your more aggressive impulses, nothing.  There are a lot of factors.  You left me alone last year, but not everyone did.”  
  
“Thought Karofsky was being cool now, though.”  Puck’s face immediately darkened.  “He’s being cool, right?”  
  
“Yes, we’re fine.  As we can be.  That’s not…”  Kurt sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “Just because the actions have stopped, it doesn’t mean the effects have.  Honestly, the fact that I’m still here talking to you while you’re standing in that particular spot?  Progress.”  Puck seemed to notice only then just what he was leaning on, and he frowned, pushing furtively away from the dumpster.  “But clearly I still have some issues with being manhandled by guys who are bigger than me.  It’s a thing.  I’ll get over it.  It just takes time.  
  
“I meant what I said, though,” Kurt added when Puck didn’t say anything.  “I may have been out of line, but so were you.  If that happens again--”  
  
“You’re out, I get it,” Puck said.  “You’ve got your issues, I’ve got mine.  I’m working on it.”  
  
“I believe you are.”  
  
The wind blew, and goosebumps dusted Kurt’s arms.  The summer was already starting to fade.  He studied Puck, for the life of him not able to get a read on him now.  “What are you going to do?”  
  
He scowled at the horizon.  “Fuck if I know,” he muttered.  “This wasn’t supposed to be like this.  I just wanted to see her.  Make sure she was okay, see if Shelby was legit.  I thought once I saw her again, it wouldn’t feel like this anymore.”  
  
Kurt gently prodded, “Feel like what?”  
  
“Like I’ll only be okay if I know _she_ is.  And so what if Shelby’s nice, and they’ve got a good house, or whatever.  That’s not knowing.  That doesn’t mean shit.  The only way I _know_ she’s okay is if I’m there to make it all okay.”  The passion was coming back into his face, into his voice.  “I _know_ that I’d jump between her and a psycho with an uzi in two seconds, because she’s _mine_.  Because she’s the only really good thing about me, and if she’s gone, I’m gone.  If I’m not there, how the hell do I know if she’s with someone who would do that for her?  Who’ll love her enough?”  His voice went a little strange toward the end, and he took a moment to slow his breath, and there was fierce love in his face, enough that the backs of Kurt’s eyes began to consider heating up.  “I used to think about her every day, but now I think about her _all the time_.  Every second.  It’s…it’s fucked-up.”  
  
“No, it isn’t,” Kurt said.  
  
Puck swallowed hard and seemed to try reining it back in.  “But you’re coming next Wednesday, right?”  
  
Kurt nodded.  “Of course, Noah.”  
  
Puck sniffed hard and jutted his chin in that strange guy-nod that Kurt had never mastered, and he was struck by the similarities to when David had done the same thing, standing outside his French class in his Bully-Whips uniform.  “Cool.”  Huh.  He’d said that, too.  
  
Puck held out a fist, and Kurt humored him and bumped it.   Then, before Puck could pull his arm back, Kurt took him by the wrist and pressed the money back into his hand.  “If you’re going to use it for anyone, use it for her.”  
  
It took a second of Puck looking between his face and their hands for it to occur to Kurt that his gesture might be misinterpreted, and he cleared his throat as he pulled his hands away.  Puck’s expression didn’t change, though, and he gave a mute nod.  
  
From inside, Kurt’s dad called, “Five minutes, kiddo.”  
  
“Coming,” Kurt called back, then glanced back at Puck with a twitch of the eyebrows.  “Duty calls.”  
  
“Pretty sweet gig you got here.”  
  
Kurt shrugged.  “It is what it is.  I’ve been helping out here since I was eight.  It started out as a good mutual distraction and bonding activity, and now it’s shopping money and more car knowledge than anyone expects a seventeen-year-old gay to have.  Also, my own personal ‘Pimp My Ride.’”  
  
Puck studied him, his expression unreadable again.  “You actually know your shit, don’t you?”  
  
Kurt lifted an eyebrow.  “Who do you think overhauled the engine after you crashed that Volvo?”  
  
Puck’s eyes widened, then narrowed.  “Bullshit.”  
  
“Oh, don’t make me break out the auto-shop jargon.  We’ll be here all afternoon.”  
  
“I got no place to be.”  
  
Kurt sighed.  “Well, I’m actually getting paid for this, so I will not be staying out here to regale you.  However, if you really need that much convincing, you’re welcome to come back in and hand me things when I point to them.”  He dropped his voice low and conspiratorial.  “I might even let you touch a carburetor.”  
  
“Fuck you, dude.”  But Puck was grinning, if a bit grudgingly.  “What the hell.  I’ll take it over chaperoning my sister at her fucking Disney Princess marathon at the Cohens’ place.  Only so much of that a guy can take.”  
  
Kurt’s eyebrows shot up.  “Oh.”  He blinked a few times, actually considered it.  Talking cars with Puckerman.  Talking _to_ Puckerman outside the safe zones of Shelby’s house, his car, or a text message.  
  
Huh.  
  
Puck seemed to be going through a similar thought process when Kurt’s mind came back, but he didn’t take back the offer, instead just looking back at Kurt with an appraising eye.  
  
Finally, Kurt stepped aside and pulled open the door.  “Well, then.  After you.”  
  
-  
  
“So.  That was the Puckerman kid, right?”  
  
“Mm-hm.  No, no--give me that.”  
  
“The heart attack was almost a year ago, kid.  Think I can carry my own equipment.”  
  
“Eight months, two weeks, and five days.  Besides, I’m young and able-bodied, it builds character, et cetera, et cetera.”  
  
“Fine, fine.  So, the Puckerman kid.  He bothering you again?”  
  
“If by ‘bothering,’ you mean attacking me with grease-hands just because I _may_ have mentioned that I’m not _quite_ as averse to getting messy if I’m in coveralls, then yes.  Yes, he was.”  
  
“I don’t know about all that, but guess I’m just a little confused.  This is one of the guys that used to give you trouble, right?”  
  
“He is.”  
  
“Same guy who was hanging around the shop with you all afternoon.  Chasing you around with engine grease until you started snapping him with the oil rag.”  
  
“Correct.  But that was only for a minute.  You and I both know that I am first and foremost a professional.”  
  
“I know you are.  This isn’t about that.”  
  
“And what this _is_ about would be…?”  
  
“…You’re gonna tell me it’s none of my business, but it’s kinda my job to ask this stuff.  So.  That fight you had with Blaine the other day.  It have anything to do with that guy?”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Well, you know, when I was about your age, I was seeing this girl from my econ class, and then I went off to football camp for the summer.  I got back, I found out she’d been spending a whole lot of time with another guy while I was gone, said she got lonely.  And I got to admit, I didn’t take that too well.”  
  
“…You just made me the girl.”  
  
“Hey, don’t get touchy on me, it’s just an example.  I just thought you should keep in mind that if you’re spending a lot of time with this Puckerman boy--”  
  
“Wait.  You think--oh.  _Oh_.  Oh, my _God_.”  
  
“You about to laugh, or throw up?  ‘Cause I can grab you a trash can.”  
  
“Possibly both.  Oh my God.  Dad.  _Really?_ ”  
  
“So, that’s a no, then.”  
  
“I’ll be the first to admit that Puckerman has excellent bone structure and, let’s face it, the body of a bronze god, but I daresay that’s a _God_ no.  Mutually.”  
  
“All right, all right.  It’s just not too often I see you hanging around with any of Finn’s buddies one-on-one.”  
  
“…They’re my friends, too, Dad.”  
  
“I know that.  And I’m glad.  But you know what I mean, kiddo.”  
  
“Yeah.  I know.”  
  
-  
  
A few weeks ago, Kurt had thought that Beth could not possibly be more adorable than when she performed her bobbing, laughing baby-dance to Puck’s strumming on the guitar.  
  
Then he’d seen the part where she greeted Puck at the door and tried to climb him like a tree, and he had reevaluated his assessment.  
  
But now…now they were in a park, and she was in a little pink sundress with a little white hat with a flower, and she was playing with a duck.  
  
Just…being that cute should not be _legal_.  
  
Kurt kept a hand over his mouth and did his damnedest to keep from laughing as he sat next to Shelby on the park bench and watched Beth timidly approach one of the ridiculously tame ducks by the pond, throw a piece of bread to it like Puck had shown her, then squeak and laugh and run back behind Puck when the duck started to waddle with interest in her direction.  
  
He wasn’t quite close enough to hear, but Puck asked her something about ducks while she clutched at his pant leg and the back of his shirt.  
  
Then he quacked.  Loudly.  
  
Beth burst into a delighted laugh (and Kurt maybe lost it for half a second, there, too), and Puck chuckled and kissed her on top of her hat, fixing it when it dropped a little over her eyes.   Emboldened, she ventured out from behind him with another bit of bread.  
  
It was a little risky, doing this out in public, and he and Puck had immediately exchanged tight glances when Shelby had suggested it.  But no one knew them this side of town; Jesse St. James was long gone after the debacle that was Nationals, and if anyone else from Vocal Adrenaline happened by, they weren’t likely to recognize them or care.  Puck knew the area from being dragged to the Lima Jewish Community Center nearby when he was younger, and more importantly, it would have been far too suspicious for them to say no.  
  
“So, Kurt,” Shelby said, startling him out of watching, “it looks like you and Noah worked out whatever was going on last week?”  
  
Ah.  This conversation.  
  
Kurt cleared his throat, sort of wishing he’d gone with Puck and Beth to look at the ducks.  “Oh, yes.  Just a small miscommunication, nothing to worry about.”  
  
When he glanced up, she was looking at him very intently, enough that he almost drew back.  She was subdued today, a little distracted, so the sudden laser focus was a little jarring.  Seeming to choose her words one by one, she said, “I never asked.  How was it that you got involved in these visits?  Were they your idea?”  
  
“Oh, no,” he quickly assured her.  “Entirely Noah’s idea.  This is all on his initiative.”  He added a rather proud smile, because he really was rather proud of him for it.  “I got involved because he didn’t have his own transportation for this, and he asked for help.  I suppose I was the most appropriate candidate for it.”  
  
“So he didn’t…force you to do this.  He didn’t threaten you in any way?”  
  
Uh-oh.  “Not at all,” Kurt said, his smile dropping into a frown.  “I did require him to state his case before giving a yea or nay, but this is all entirely consensual.  What made you think otherwise?”  
  
Shelby eyed Puck and Beth, then the ground.  “He got pretty rough with you last week.”  
  
Kurt bit his lip, not liking where this was going at all.  
  
“And you looked pretty terrified.  You’re a smart kid, and I don’t doubt that you can take care of yourself, but he’s a lot bigger than you are.  I just wanted to make sure that kind of thing hasn’t been happening every time I’ve closed the door.”  
  
“No,” Kurt said immediately, glancing at Puck and Beth again before he could help it.  This time, when she ran away from the duck, she stopped in front of Puck instead of behind, then stretched her arms up.  He lifted her into his arms and stood without missing a beat, taking her on the bridge to look at the fish.  
  
Then Kurt remembered Shelby was waiting on him, and he met her eyes, saying evenly and clearly, “That was the only time.  I’m here because I want to be.”  He swallowed.  “If I looked afraid for a second, it’s just because I’ve been bullied before, and getting pushed around brought a few of those knee-jerk reactions back to the surface.  That’s all.”  
  
Quietly, even gently, Shelby said, “Was he one of those bullies?”  
  
Kurt inhaled, exhaled, and tried to think how on earth to answer that.  
  
“…It is true that Noah and I have some…history, which has taken some time to work through,” he said slowly, because he could not would _not_ paint a picture of Puckzilla for this woman, who was all the difference between Daddy smiling and pointing out catfish to his little girl, and Noah scowling on the bridge alone, without her.  “It has been a journey, yes.  But, and I truly believe this, no one in our glee club has come farther than Noah has.  I think that especially in this last year, he has grown up more than anyone.  And being here with Beth--he is the best version of himself when he’s with her.  Honestly, I’m…really proud to be a part of that.”  
  
Shelby regarded him for a while, and then the corner of her mouth curved up a little.  “You’re a sweet kid, Kurt, you know that?”  
  
“I can think of some choice individuals at McKinley who would beg to differ,” Kurt said, smirking a bit to hide his nerves, “but thank you.”  
  
Puck reappeared next to the bench, and the subject was dropped.  “She’s calling for Mama,” he said, his voice straining as he lifted Beth over to her.  
  
Shelby took Beth, felt her diaper, and shook her head.  “I see what I’m good for.  Daddy gets the ducks, and Mama gets the diapers, huh?” she said, tapping Beth on the nose and making her wrinkle it and giggle.  She adjusted Beth in her arms and stood, heading for the restrooms at the opposite corner of the park.  “We’ll be back.”  
  
Puck dropped down in her place, letting out his breath and looking more relaxed than he’d looked all week.  “So.  You keeping an eye on your ride?”  
  
Kurt rolled his eyes.  “Not at all.  In fact, I thought I’d leave the windows down and the key in the ignition, just for fun.”  
  
“Dude, not funny,” Puck said, frowning at him.  “I’ve got quality beverages stashed in there.  Rachel told me straight-up she’s not letting me crack her dads’ liquor cabinet this time around, so I’m taking one for the team.  You’re freakin’ welcome.”  
  
“Once _again_ , I refuse to acknowledge anything more than that there are two grocery bags of party supplies in my trunk.  I don’t want to know what kind of supplies, where you got them, or how you intend for us to use them.  This will remain the case until after tonight, when those two bags are no longer in my possession.”  
  
“Nine tenths of the law, amigo.”  
  
“I’m going to decide you didn’t just call me ‘amigo.’  It sounds far too similar to ‘amico,’ which I can only associate with the mafia since Finn held me hostage to watch _The Godfather_.  I have enough anxiety about my _current_ potentially law-breaking situation without bringing in _cosa nostra_ , thank you very much.”  
  
“Come on, _The Godfather_ ’s boss.  And quit your bitching.  You’re killing my buzz, dude.”  
  
Kurt froze.  “Noah, I need you to tell me right now that you were not just holding your infant daughter over the side of a bridge while inebriated.”  
  
That earned him a sharp punch in the arm.  “Dude!”  
  
“Well!”  
  
“Not cool!”  Puck clicked his tongue, and Kurt wondered if there was something wrong with him if it actually made him feel a little ashamed.  “I mean I’m in a _good mood_.  Damn.”  
  
Kurt shot him a skeptical frown, rubbing his arm where it was starting to ache.  “Tell your _good mood_ thanks for that.”  
  
Puck rolled his eyes.  “Man up, Hummel.  This is totally me in a good mood.  Tonight’s when I finally get my lady back.”  
  
“Lauren’s back in town, huh?”  
  
“ _Aww_ yeah.  This party’s gonna be off the _chain_.  And you’ve gotta actually be fun this time,” he said, bumping Kurt’s elbow with his.  “Don’t think I didn’t notice you staring at your boy all _sober_ and shit last time around.  What was up with that?”  
  
“We weren’t dating yet.  I didn’t want to put myself in any unattractive situations in his presence.”  
  
“Yeah, ‘cause he gave a real shit about that one.”  
  
“Danger…”  
  
“Seriously.  He’s not even here.  Who the hell you trying to impress?  Most of us have never even seen you with your hair screwed up.  Live a little.”  
  
“You make a compelling argument,” Kurt deadpanned, rolling his eyes.  
  
“That a challenge, Hummel?”  
  
“What do you-- _oh_ no,” he snapped, throwing a hand up to block Puck’s hand from reaching to muss his hair.  “Don’t you dare!”  
  
“You gonna let loose at Rachel’s tonight?”  
  
“I make no promises--” he yelped again when Puck shot his other hand around, nearly swiping the top of his head before Kurt caught his wrist.  “I will dye your mohawk _rainbow_ in your sleep!”  
  
“You do that, I’m getting Lauren to give you a straight-up Shirley Temple perm.”  
  
Kurt gasped.  “ _No_.”  
  
“Yep.  Or you could get crunk and save yourself the grief.  Take your pick.”  He swiped again with a wicked smirk, and Kurt ducked, catching that wrist, too.  
  
“Gah--peer pressure!” Kurt strained as he tried to wrestle Puck’s hands away from his head, laughing just like he had at the garage when he was battling Puck with an oil rag, and holy _crap_.  
  
They were friends.  
  
Like… _actual_ friends.  Not kind-of friends, or confined-to-a-certain-setting friends.  They were…wow.  
  
“Are we going to have to separate you two?”  
  
Kurt looked up at Shelby’s voice, and Puck seized the opening to give his hair a good, hard ruffle that made his jaw drop and his voice sort of squeak.  “Oh my _God_!”  He shoved hard at Puck’s arm, nearly knocking him straight off the bench (which just made Puck’s laugh go sort of high-pitched without stopping), and set about smoothing out his hair by touch, huffing.  “To answer your question…possibly.  For Noah’s safety,” he said pointedly, trying and failing to wipe the smirk off Puck’s face with a hissed, “I’m _getting_ you.”  
  
Shelby smiled, a little tightly.  “‘Possibly’ is good enough.  Noah, can I talk to you a minute?”  
  
Puck’s eyebrows lowered as Kurt’s lifted, reminding Kurt of the expression he’d gotten when Shelby had given them permission to take pictures.  Just as quickly, the look was gone.  “Yeah.”  He glanced at Kurt.  “You’re good with her, right?”  
  
Kurt nodded, reaching for Beth when Shelby held her out to him, then setting her in his lap, where she stared back at him.  “Well, hello there.”  
  
Grinning a bit, Puck leaned down by Beth and said, “Hey, wanna show Uncle Kurt what sound a duck makes?”  
  
Something swelled in Kurt’s chest, and he pursed his lips to keep them from spreading into a stupidly huge smile.  _Uncle Kurt._  
  
Beth was many things, but not shy.  With a little wave of her arms, she proudly announced, “Cuk, cuk!”  
  
Kurt laughed, and Puck straightened out her hat again.  “We’re working on it.”  
  
“I think that’s an excellent duck-sound. _Très approprié!_ ” Kurt said, directing it to Beth, and he actually earned a smile.  Shelby looked satisfied, and he stood, hefting Beth into his arms.  “We’ll just take a walk, then.”  
  
He glanced back once as he started along the park path at a leisurely stroll, watching Shelby sit down next to Puck.  He could only hope it was nothing bad.  If it was bad, then he could only hope he hadn’t somehow been the cause of it.  If it was bad _and_ it was his fault, that would just…he wasn’t going to think about that.  
  
Then Beth popped a few fingers into her mouth and leaned her head sleepily on his shoulder, and he gently patted her side, his worries evaporating for a moment.  
  
Uncle Kurt.  _Hee_.  
  
He walked with her in silence for a little while before she pulled her fingers from her mouth, made a noise, and pointed off to his right, at a patch of flowers.  He slowed to let her look.  “What’s that?” he asked.  
  
“That,” Beth repeated in a tiny voice.  
  
“That is a very astute observation,” Kurt said, smiling.  “ _Bravá_.”  
  
A moment, and she lost interest, this time pointing at a tree.  
  
Kurt glanced back toward the bench once more while he humored her with the ‘What’s that?’ game, but Shelby was still talking to Puck, and now he was on the other side of the park and couldn’t make out their expressions.  
  
“That!” Beth insisted, pulling him back to the game.  “That!”  
  
He smiled and followed her pointing finger with his eyes.  Then his smile dropped.  
  
She was pointing at another tree.  Behind which Kurt could just make out a very familiar red-brown afro.  
  
 _No._  
  
He sucked in his breath, alarms going off between his ears.  “What’s that, indeed,” he murmured.  Without a second’s hesitation, he pulled out his phone and held it low, typing a warning to Puck with one thumb.  
  
 _> > **You:** JBI, 1:00_  
  
Then he took a deep breath, held Beth tight to him, and crept around the other side of the tree.  
  
He wasn’t sure whether it was a testament to his own stealth or an insult to Jacob Ben Israel’s powers of observation that he was able to get so close before being noticed.  Feeling a bit like a negotiator in a police drama, he cleared his throat.  
  
Jacob spun around on his heel and, at the sight of Kurt, gave a rather pathetic-sounding squeak.  Then, as if to make up for it, he shoved his stupid camera in Kurt’s face.  “Kurt Hummel, i-is it true that Noah Puckerman has been experimenting with male fertility drugs in an effort to spawn an elite army of mohawked--hey!” he yelped when Kurt shoved his palm against the lens of the camera and gripped it tight, pulling it to the side.  
  
“Jacob,” he said slowly, hoping it sounded as dangerous as he felt, “give me the camera.”  
  
“Newsflash,” Jacob said in his ever-quavering voice, “you’re not a Cheerio anymore, so, so I don’t have to listen to you.”  An irritatingly self-satisfied crossed his face.  “Besides, this is just bonus footage.  I’ve already sent the story about you and Puckerman and your little bundle of joy to my contact.  He’s posting it on my blog as breaking news as we speak.”  
  
“ _Story?_ ” Kurt repeated, sharply enough that Jacob flinched, and this was bad.  
  
“Noah Puckerman has been tormenting me since third grade,” Jacob said, and Kurt couldn’t tell if his tone was bitter or just proud.  “I relish this opportunity to libel him into the ground once and for all.”  
  
This was really, really bad.  
  
“Jacob,” Kurt began again, his heart pounding, “withdraw the story.  I am asking you as a classmate who has been harassed just as much as you have, and has never given you any trouble.  Normally I wouldn’t care what you do, but this is meddling with Noah’s personal business.  With his _family_.”  He held Beth tight with one arm, the other hand still tight over the camera lens.  “Don’t do this.”  
  
“Sorry, Kurt,” Jacob said, and strangely enough he actually did sound a little sorry, “but I’ve been waiting to carry out this vendetta since age nine.  The people need to know.  I’m not responsible for collateral damage.”  He squirmed under Kurt’s glare and made a weak attempt to change the subject.  “It’s a cute kid.  Does it have a--”  
  
“Don’t look at her,” Kurt snapped, automatically angling Beth away from him.  “Jacob, _please_.  What…” he closed his eyes, really, really not wanting to ask this but feeling desperate, “…what do you want?”  
  
“I’ll tell you what he wants.”  
  
Jacob squeaked and cowered when Puck’s hand slammed into the tree next to his head, blocking him in.  Glancing at his face, Kurt almost backed up himself; he looked _murderous_.  
  
“He _wants_ to drop the camera and make with the disappearing act before I rearrange his fucking _face_ ,” Puck spat, and Beth whimpered, clutching Kurt’s sweater tight.  
  
“Puck,” Kurt snapped, finally letting go of the camera to push back against Puck’s shoulder, his eyes sweeping the park for Shelby.  “Not here.”  
  
“It’s too late,” Jacob said, looking equal parts terrified and exhilarated.  “It’s already all over the blogosphere by now.  By the time school starts again, your reputation will be so destroyed that all the Quinn Fabrays in the state couldn’t boost you back up the food chain.”  Puck glowered, his breath growing heavy, and something was _wrong_ , something was in his face that hadn’t been there before.  
  
Keeping his hand pressed to Puck’s shoulder--though whether it was to reassure him or to hold him back, he wasn’t entirely sure--he jumped back in, “What are you even doing here?  How long have you been following us?”  
  
Jacob’s eyes snapped to him, glittering with interest in a way that made his skin crawl.  “It’s a short walk from the Jewish Community Center, and that depends.  How long have you been carrying out this illicit affai--”  He yelped when  Puck grabbed at his camera (which he had been not-so-subtly attempting to lift up again), and quickly clutched it out of the way.  Kurt actually pushed Puck back this time, looking him hard in the eye and hissing his name again.  
  
The second Puck moved, Jacob ducked out from under his arm and bolted, throwing a slightly hysterical, “You’ll never take me alive!” over his shoulder.  
  
“No,” Kurt said when Puck moved to chase after him.  “He said it’s already online.  That means we have a limited amount of time to clear the air before people start to _see_ it,” he reminded him, trying very hard to break through this new wall Puck seemed to have put up around himself.  “Where’s Shelby?”  
  
“Got a call,” Puck muttered, his shoulders hunched and far too tense.  His eyes fell on Beth, and Kurt held her out to him.  Puck brought her close the second he had her in his arms, pressing his face into her hat and moodily following Jacob with his eyes.  
  
He looked so on edge that Kurt pushed the Jacob situation aside.  “What did she say to you?”  
  
Puck shook his head, lowering his eyes with a tight, tight jaw.  “I’ll find her.  You go bring your ride around,” he said, his voice still low.  “Everyone’ll already be at Rachel’s.  Just get us there.  I’ll think us up an alibi.”  
  
“Okay,” Kurt said uncertainly, but dug out his keys while Puck took Beth back toward the bench.  
  
Something was wrong.  And Kurt had a sinking feeling that this was only the start.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Puck comes to Kurt for help, and Kurt figures it can’t hurt to do a friend a favor.  Unfortunately, everything is more complicated when there’s a baby involved.

"Does your phone have internet?"

“Pfft, I wish.”

“Mine does. We should probably know what we’re going to be justifying here. Left-side pocket.”

Kurt trilled two fingers nervously against the steering wheel as Puck dug out his phone from his bag and began to click through. He wouldn’t panic. No reason to panic yet.

Puck swore, and Kurt’s hopes sank. “What?”

When he glanced over, Puck was scrolling through the article with his thumb, too fast to be reading it, the furrow of his brow deepening with every inch. “He’s got pictures.”

“What kind of pictures?”

“Whole last hour we were there. _Fuck!_ ” He pounded a fist against the passenger door, hard and abrupt enough to make Kurt start in his seat.

“…Okay,” Kurt said, slowing to a stop at a light. He turned in his seat, and Puck’s face was absolutely livid, his shoulders hunched and tight. Carefully, he said, “I need you to tell me what Shelby said to you.”

Puck glowered out the window, his jaw working.

“Something happened. I need you to tell me what, because whether the others have seen that article or not, it will end in disaster if you go in there like this.” And they were friends now--they _were_ \--so Kurt pressed, more gently, “Talk to me.”

Puck’s eyes slid downward, but otherwise he didn’t respond. The light changed.

Kurt pressed on the gas and kept one eye on him, but gave him time.

They hit green lights for a few blocks, turned, slowed as they entered the residential side-streets near Rachel’s neighborhood. The headlights automatically flipped on as the sun continued to sink.

“She’s taking her away.”

Kurt blinked, then caught up, then nearly slammed on the brakes. “What?” he demanded, his voice jumping up nearly an octave without his permission. “Where? What for?”

“Chicago,” Puck spat like a curse. “ _Fucking_ Chicago, like she can just up and…what the _fuck!_ ”

“Okay…okay, calm down,” Kurt said, utterly thrown. “Did she tell you why?”

“She got offered some job there, like, a week ago. And she didn’t _tell_ me.” Puck seemed to force himself to inhale and exhale before looking away again. “She doesn’t know the start date yet, but she said probably end of August. That’s less than a fucking _month_. And she said I--”

He cut off, glaring back out the window and shaking his head a little, like the rest of the sentence was too heavy on his tongue.

“What?” Kurt prompted, still keeping his voice gentle, because he wasn’t good with Puck like this, and giving what he got had only proven useful for making Puck clam up for three days.

Puck swallowed, his face twitching like it wanted to crumple. “She said I should back off. Start…start ’pulling away,’ because it’ll be too hard for Beth if I don’t. Too hard for her to _leave_.” He hit the door again, but there was no fire to it this time, and he sank against it. “Fuck.”

Before Kurt could begin to think of what on earth he could say, a car horn blared behind them, making them both jump. Kurt quickly smacked down the hand Puck was lifting to flip the finger at them, instead holding up a ‘sorry’ hand and crossing the intersection.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Kurt murmured as they turned onto Rachel’s street. “She’s been so up-front about everything until now. I’ve asked her how her job-search was going every time we’ve gone over--you were there. She never even mentioned an interview.” He shook his head. “What could have…”

A terrible thought entered his mind.

He’d told Shelby that Puck used to bully him.

Not in so many words, and he’d defended him immediately, completely, but…when she’d asked, he hadn’t said no. And after he’d defended Puck, she had said he was sweet. Not that she believed him, not that she would take his word for it, not ‘okay.’ She’d called him a sweet kid. Sweet kids protected others, whether they were guilty or not. Had she thought he was lying? And if she thought Puck could still be violent, that could make her decide--

Oh, God.

Remembering where he was, he swallowed and pulled up to the curb across from Rachel’s house, putting the car in Park. Puck glared mutely at his knees.

No. No way on earth would Shelby have done this because of Kurt. Not based on nothing but a suspicion. _It’s not always about you_ , his common sense reminded him, and for once the thought was a comfort instead of an irritation.

He turned to Puck, shutting the thought away.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, and as it came out of his mouth, soothing and sure, he realized just how much he meant it. Catching Puck’s eye, he repeated, more firmly, “We’ll figure something out.”

“What do you care?”

“I do.” Then, glancing at the house and back, “Just hold it together for a few more hours. We still don’t know if they know, so. One thing at a time, okay?”

Puck looked back a moment longer, then looked away with the smallest of nods and took a deep breath through his nose. Kurt watched, fascinated, as he pushed the hurt out of his face and replaced it with the edged calm that Kurt had always thought was just _him_. “So,” Puck said, and his voice was already different, the cockiness not quite back, but the heartbreak hidden. “Review. We’re showing up together because--”

“Because I passed you walking here and took pity,” Kurt finished. “And because I had some choice words to say to you about giving out my number to every guy in that flash mob last spring.”

Puck snorted. “Seriously wish I’d thought of that for real. Not like you’re getting any from the Gargler.”

“I think you’re not going to start with me right now. Continue.”

“Whatever. So no one could get a hold of you all day because--”

“Because I was at the library, by myself, attempting to get some serious writing done for _Pip, Pip, Hooray_. And you were…”

“Busking it up downtown,” Puck finished, looking satisfied. “Trying to make some buck so I can save up for my Harley.”

“And the busking is why you have your guitar with you.” Kurt went over their stories in his head, searching for holes. “If they ask how much you made doing it?”

“Eight fifty,” Puck said. “Still got the cash from doing it last week.”

“Huh. More than I’d expected from downtown Lima, really.”

Puck shrugged. “So if no one knows anything, you keep your mouth shut and just go with it. Then I can get Artie to hack Jewfro’s website tomorrow without asking any questions.”

“And if they do know, then…” Kurt began, but realized he had no idea how to finish that sentence.

He looked to Puck, who dropped his gaze before quietly finishing for him, “Then, shit.”

Kurt sighed, murmuring in agreement, “Shit.”

-

Oddly, standing next to Puck on Rachel’s doorstep took Kurt straight back to the first time they had stood on Shelby’s. This time, though, he was the one who stood utterly paralyzed while Puck shook out his shoulders, took a breath, and rang the doorbell.

“Remember, keep the drinking to a minimum if they don’t know,” Kurt blurted under his breath, rather tempted to turn on his heel and peel out of their parking spot and hide in his room until he got an all-clear. His heart was starting to pound. “We didn’t plan enough for if they do know,” he murmured. “Oh, God. They’re going to know. If no one answers the door, does that mean they kno--ex _cuse_ you!” he yelped when Puck smacked the back of his head.

“Be cool,” Puck hissed back. “And blink or something. Your eyes get all huge when you’re freaked.” The lock turned, and both of them froze. Kurt squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them, not quite so wide. He was a performer. He could do this.

The door opened, and Kurt held his breath.

Rachel’s smile was blinding.

“Kurt, Noah, so glad to see you’ve made it,” she chirped, already in full-on hostess-mode. She stepped aside to let them in while Kurt tried to ignore the woolen monstrosity draped over her shoulders. She looked between them and cocked her head, her show-face faltering for just a second. “Did you...come together?”

Puck was the first to find his voice, giving the answer they’d made up without missing a beat. “Hummel passed me hoofing it with our supplies here,” he said, holding up the two grocery bags, the bottles clinking inside. “Figured he’d do his good deed for the day and then bitch me out for doing him a _favor_.”

Puck shot him a pointed scowl, and just like that, Kurt’s mindset snapped into place. His face smoothed, and his chin lifted, and he regarded Puck with imaginary distaste. “Essentially _whoring me out_ to forty strange dancing men via phone number is not doing me a favor, Puckerman. It is, in fact, borderline prostitution. I know it’s difficult for you to grasp the nuance.”

“I was totally hooking you up! Seriously, halfway through the flash mob, there were like six dudes totally checking out your ass.”

“Ugh.” Kurt turned his back to Puck and toward Rachel, who seemed caught between disapproval and intrigue. “May I be removed from his presence now?”

“Hey, Dwarf, where’s your other bathr--oh, thank _God_.” Santana stopped at the top of the basement steps and called back down, “Go-time, bitches! Puckerman’s brought the booze!”

There was a smattering of cheers from downstairs, and Rachel seemed to shake off the conversation, instead ushering them toward the steps and leading the way down after Santana. Once she was turned away, Kurt closed his eyes and silently let out his breath.

They didn’t know. By some miracle, they didn’t know.

Puck went ahead of him, exhaling and thumping a fist lightly against Kurt’s shoulderblade as he passed, and Kurt nodded back.

The second they were downstairs, they split for the night, Kurt jumping on the couch with Mercedes and Tina to talk red carpet fashion predictions and Puck bumping fists with the rest of the guys before attaching himself to Lauren by the mouth. The drinks came out, and Kurt sipped slowly on one while keeping an eye on Puck, who was rather obnoxiously good at acting like he was getting drunk without ever actually refilling his cup.

And for a while, Kurt started to relax. He rolled his eyes and got up and danced when Tina and Brittany yanked him off the couch for ‘Single Ladies,’ and he ran away and hid behind Finn when Artie started passing around some truly horrific-looking shots, and he ‘accidentally’ hip-bumped Rachel off the stage when Celine Dion came on for karaoke. He even had quite the interesting conversation about the prevalence of group dance numbers in football movies with Sam and Mike.

So when Santana dropped down next to him and demanded to know why he wasn’t drunk yet, he brushed her off and didn’t think much of it. She narrowed her eyes at him, then pushed herself up again, grabbing him by the wrist. “Dance with me, Disco Stick.”

“I refuse to respond to that nickname.”

“Deal with it.” Kurt stifled a squeak when she yanked him up, smacked both hands against his backside, and plastered herself to his front. “So when’s the big reunion with Captain Eyebrows?”

Kurt huffed a sigh when his attempts to tug her hands off his butt proved fruitless. “He’ll be back in Ohio next week, if that’s what you mean. He has six more performances, and then a wrap-up--”

“Yeah, I don’t care. So what’s your plan?”

“Pardon?”

“I mean reunion sex, Flounder,” she breathed right against his ear, making him squirm. “You want to keep your man, gotta keep him satisfied. I can help you with that.”

“I’m becoming concerned about this vested interest you seem to have in my sex life.”

“Because you don’t have one, and it’s depressing. I’m like Ursula. I may be a straight-up bitch, but I’m willing to use my powers to help poor, unfortunate virgins, just like you.” She punctuated it with a tap on his nose, and she very nearly got away right then--but for the fact that his jeans happened to be the skinniest of skinny-jeans, and he felt it the moment she started to slip his phone out of his back pocket.

“Oh no,” he said, catching her wrist and prying his phone out of her hand while she rolled her eyes. “I’ve had more than enough of _that_ kind of help, thank you very much.”

The phone buzzed in his hand with a text, and he shot Santana a warning-face before crossing the room to drop down on the couch by Finn, needing some testosterone in his life after being in such close proximity to girl-parts.

“Hey, dude,” Finn said, distracting him. “What time did Dad say we had to be back again?”

Kurt smiled a little, still not quite used to hearing him say it. “If he didn’t say anything, just assume it’s one o’clock,” he replied. “Unless you call, in which case it’s negotiable.”

“Cool,” Finn said with a big grin, giving Kurt’s shoulder a funny little nudge with his own that Kurt had learned meant, ‘Thanks for still being okay with this.’ Kurt rolled his eyes, but nudged him back before returning his attention to the text that had popped up on his phone screen.

_BREAKING NEWS: End-of-Summer Senior Scandal in McGinty Park, READ HERE!_

Kurt frowned at the screen, taking a quick glance around to make sure no one had seen. He’d forgotten that Jacob somehow had the contact information of every soul at McKinley. The day he’d first learned of it, he had immediately saved Jacob’s number in his phone under ‘JBI, IGNORE IMMEDIATELY.’

Holding his phone closer to himself, he pressed the link. And, under the headline, _NOAH ’NO-PANTS’ PUCKERMAN AND KURT ‘GAY THUNDER‘ HUMMEL- LOOKING AT ADOPTION?!_ a photo of himself, holding Beth while Puck bent down to straighten her hat, came up on the screen.

He stifled a gasp and pressed the phone facedown against his shoulder, glancing around again before letting out his breath. Just as quickly, his frown deepened. Why would Jacob send him the article? Guilt? Spite? Or maybe he was being offered a deal. Hope sparked in his chest--not that he looked forward to being blackmailed by Jacob Ben Israel, but at least it would be a _choice_ , and outsmarting him wouldn’t be the toughest task in the world, and--

Next to him, Finn’s _Invader Zim_ text tone went off.

Then, across the room, Tina’s phone blared Florence and the Machine.

Then Sam’s, a high-pitched, _Listen!_ from some video game.

The laughter and chatter faded under the short, crashing chorus of eleven text tones going off at once, and Rachel turned off the music, and for a moment after Rapunzel’s song from _Into the Woods_ was stopped by her thumb on the keypad, it was quiet enough that Kurt could almost hear his heart tumbling into his stomach.

Puck caught his gaze from across the room while the others laughed and murmured and decided to check it out, and from the way his face sharpened, Kurt could only guess that his own eyes were very, very wide.

“Dang it--my phone’s being dumb again,” Finn muttered, tossing his cell back down and grabbing Kurt’s before he could even register that it was gone. “I’m gonna use yours, that cool?”

The thought of the photo that was still on his phone screen jolted Kurt like electricity, and he blurted, “No. No, Finn--”

“I just wanna see! Just for a second. I won’t break it, I promise,” Finn said distractedly, holding the phone out of reach when Kurt grabbed for it.

“No, that’s not it. Finn, don’t--”

The screen blinked on.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Finn’s smile faded.

And Kurt couldn’t watch that, he _couldn’t_ , so he snatched the phone back and threw himself to his feet, all but attaching himself to Puck (not hiding behind him, definitely not) and not looking to see what Finn’s face looked like when he murmured a bewildered, “What…”

Looking around the room to avoid looking at Finn had not presented him with anything better. One by one, each curious, humoring smile in the room shrank into confusion, or shock, or--

“What is this?”

Oh, God. Quinn.

Kurt summoned every drop of his willpower not to grab onto Puck’s arm.

She straightened, and her eyes were on _fire_ , and she turned them on a bristling Puck. “What the hell is this?”

“…Well gee, I don’t know,” Puck drawled back after a sullen beat, and it was all Kurt could do not to pounce on him and clap a hand over his mouth because he knew that tone. “What do you think it is?”

“It’s her,” she choked, holding up the phone with danger in her face. “This is _her_.”

Quietly, Puck muttered, “Yeah.”

Quinn rounded on him, striding directly into his personal space. “You _told_ me you waived your visitation rights, just like I did!”

“You sure about that? Think you were still pretty doped up--”

“Don’t,” Quinn hissed through her teeth, and she was actually _shaking_.

“You’d just popped out _my_ kid!” Puck shot back, a defensive edge rising fast in his voice. “Like I was gonna tell you one damn thing you didn’t want to hear! I didn’t want you to freak out, so I kept it on the DL. I was doing you a favor.”

“Don’t you _dare_ play with me, Noah Puckerman,” Quinn said. “You _lied_ to me about the most important decision we would _ever_ have to make together, the only thing I’ve _ever_ asked of you since she was born, and you think you were doing me a _favor?_ ” She kept pressing forward, but Puck stayed right where he was, his face set like stone. “Look at this!” she said, loud and sharp, snapping her phone up in front of his face. “They were forgetting, Noah! Everyone at this school was finally starting to forget that she ever happened, and now everyone can see this, and they’re all going to _remember_ , and it’s all your fault!”

She shoved hard on Puck’s shoulders, making him stumble back a step, and Kurt automatically reached out to steady him. Then Quinn’s gaze turned on him, and it occurred to him that calling attention to himself might not have been the wisest choice.

“And why are _you_ in the middle of this?”

Kurt’s mouth dropped open, and he stared at her for a second before glancing at Puck, who gave him a tense but resigned nod. Swallowing, Kurt carefully replied, “He just needed someone to drive him. He asked me.”

Quinn’s face flashed with betrayal. “You _took_ him to _see_ her?”

“Yes,” Kurt said, faltering a little when his eyes drifted to Finn and found so much shock and hurt there that his heart sank. He quickly focused on Quinn. Diplomacy. “I did. He told me it was completely within his adoption terms, and Ms. Corcoran was there the entire time for every visit--”

“Wait,” Santana said, sauntering up next to Quinn and reminding him that other people were in the room. “How would you know, if all you did was drive him?”

The room went quiet for a second, and Kurt was almost positive that he could hear his own heart speeding up.

Puck let out his breath, a sour look on his face. “I was freaking out the first visit, back in June. I told him to come with. Shelby liked him, and he made it less weird, so we decided he’d keep coming. It was better that way. They at least had stuff to talk about.”

There was a flurry of motion from the corner of the room, and something resembling a sob, and Rachel fled up the stairs, not looking at Kurt once, and Kurt was confused for exactly one second before it hit him. He’d had things to talk about with her mother, who had nothing to talk about with her. _Oh, no._

“Rachel!” Finn called, then shot Kurt one more heartbreakingly wounded glare and followed her up, taking the stairs two at a time and repeating her name.

“What makes either of you think you had the right to do this?” Right. Quinn. Bigger problems.

“How about the adoption contract?” Puck shot back.

“You mean the one you set up behind my _back_ \--”

“Because you wouldn’t get off my shit unless I told you I’d give her away just like you did! Just because you don’t care about your own _daughter_ \--”

“She’s _not_ my daughter!” Quinn said in almost a sob, but her eyes said rage. “She’s not _your_ daughter, she’s not _anything!_ ”

Kurt shot forward just in time to catch Puck’s shoulders as he lunged forward to do something he was sure everyone in this room would regret, and he got the wind knocked out of him but managed to muscle Puck back. “Puck, stop it,” he hissed.

“And _you!_ ” Kurt’s arms dropped away from Puck, because suddenly there was a finger jabbing at his chest and Quinn was advancing on him, her eyes hard and streaming. “How dare you get in the middle of this! How _dare_ you give him what he needs to mess up everyone else’s lives, _again_! And after I _told_ you--”

“This started before we ever had that conversation, and…and I didn’t do anything wrong,” Kurt said, anger stirring deep in his belly, and not just for himself. “I agree that Puck should have told you the day she was born, but legally, he isn’t doing anything wrong, either. He’s been doing exactly what he said he was going to do from the beginning, which was to be there for her. As her father.” Quinn’s breath heaved dangerously, and he was saying too much again, he knew he was, but-- “If you could have seen him with her, you would know. That little girl is amazing--”

Quinn shrieked, “Don’t you _talk_ to me about her!” and ‘talk’ came with a loud _crack_ that whipped his head down and to the side and made tears spring to his eyes and the side of his face begin to burn because _she had just slapped him_.

“Hey! Lay off him!” Puck barked while Kurt was still recovering from the shock, and when he straightened again, Puck had positioned himself in front of him. “She is amazing--our kid is _amazing_ , and maybe you don’t want to see it, but I do.” He began to advance on Quinn while she broke into tears. “I want to see every minute of it, and there’s no way in _hell_ I’m letting you tell me to let her go!”

Suddenly Santana had slid between Puck and Quinn, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I think you need to step off, Puckerman. _You_ screwed up. Get your head out of your ass, and get your tiny dick out of Hummel’s, and _deal_ with it.”

“Ex _cuse_ me?”

“Don’t get me started on you, Von Trapp.”

“Get off my shit, J-Lo!” Puck snapped. “Like I’m gonna take orders from the school _dyke_.”

One frozen moment, and it all went to hell.

Kurt’s horrified, “ _Puck_!” was drowned out by a chorus of shouting as Santana threw herself at Puck, screaming at him in rapid Spanish, and Brittany held her back and pleaded with her to stop speaking her angry-language, and Artie threw himself and his chair in between the two of them and alternated between “Calm down, woman!” and shooting disappointed looks at Puck, and Quinn flashed across the room and slammed the bathroom door behind her. Kurt wasn’t sure when he’d grabbed onto Puck again--this time, just to shut him up before he could blurt out anything else--but Puck was operating on defensive mode, and the next thing Kurt knew, he was tumbling back and hitting the wall by Sam and Mercedes, gasping at the impact.

The fray was broken up at last when Lauren stepped in, bodily tossing Santana to the side with an unimpressed, “Thaaat’s enough of that,” and under the din, Kurt threw a desperate look to Mercedes. “Okay, clearly everyone has gone clinically insane, but will you please back me up here?”

What he wasn’t expecting was the harsh disappointment in her face. She didn’t move. “I’d expect this kind of sneaking around from Puck,” she said, “but not you.”

 _Oh God, no_. “Mercedes, I didn’t do--”

“Yeah, Kurt, you did. You did a whole lot wrong, starting with agreeing to help him lie to Quinn in the first place. Starting with lying to _me_. Does Blaine even know you’ve been spending the whole summer sneaking around with another guy?”

“It’s _Puckerman_!”

“It doesn’t matter! It’s still a lie,” she said, and the disappointment in her face stung ten times worse than Quinn’s slap. “How could you think this wouldn’t hurt anyone?”

“Because no one was going to find out!” Kurt snapped, and more of the room was looking (glaring) at him now, so he turned outward to address the lot of them. “Because unlike _everyone_ else in this room, when someone tells me a secret, I _keep_ it. I don’t go blabbing it to the first person who will listen. Puck asked me for help to see his daughter. I gave it. If that makes us terrible human beings who are _unworthy_ of your friendship, or even your ability to listen for _five minutes_ so we can explain, then clearly you’re not who I thought you were, either.”

“Fuck this,” Puck said, his jaw set and his walls up tight. “Fuck all of you. I’m walking.”

He started for the stairs with his remaining grocery bag in tow, the others leaving him a three-foot berth as he passed. Kurt looked at Mercedes once more, her face mirroring the hurt and anger churning in his chest, then made a choice. “No, you’re not.”

Kurt strode across the room, snatching up his bag and shooting a murderous glare at Santana when she refused to move out of his way. He went around her, snapping at the bathroom door in passing, “And do not _hit_ me.” He met Puck at the landing and followed him up the rest of the stairs.

There was no sign of Rachel or Finn when they passed through the unlit kitchen and living room. Kurt kept his eyes trained on Puck’s back and tried very hard to keep being angry, because if he stopped being angry he had a feeling he might cry.

Kurt didn’t start his car right away once they were inside, and they sat in silence for a few minutes, looking at nothing. Then he started the engine and pulled away from the curb.

_Shit._

-

Five minutes into the ten-minute drive, Puck muttered, "Sorry."

“For what?” Kurt said, his eyes on the road.  “As far as I’m concerned, you’re one of the only ones who doesn’t owe me an apology right now.”

“Yeah, but I’m the reason they’re pissed.”  He frowned out the window.  “I figured they’d go all teeth-and-claws on me, but I didn’t think they’d get on you, too.  Thought they’d see you as another victim.”

Kurt snorted, something he hated doing, but he’d just gotten bitchslapped.  He wasn’t feeling terribly refined.  “I think I used up all my victim-points last year.  And then some.”

Puck shrugged, moody and quiet.  “Still.”

“I don’t blame you,” Kurt assured him, sitting back when they came to a stop light.  “That said, if you feel like you owe me, you can start by _never_ using the d-word again.  Calling Santana a dyke is exactly the same as calling me a fag, and it’s totally unacceptable.”

“I don’t call you that anymore.”

“You’re the first person who ever did,” Kurt said softly, and Puck hunched a little in his seat.  “Maybe you haven’t said it recently, but other people have, and I’m never going to forget how it feels.  Knowing that, I don’t blame Santana at all for trying to rip your face off for it.  Maybe all her other accusations were crude and off-base, but in that reaction, she was justified.”

“Whatever.”

Kurt’s phone buzzed just as they started moving again, and at the next red light, he pulled it out and found a text from Sam.  “Wonderful,” he muttered, but he opened the message anyway.

_> > **Sam:** Dunno the whole story but i dont think u did anything wrong. U kept my secret too. Just thot u should know im gonna talk to cedes k?_

“Dude.”

Kurt looked up to see that the light was green.  He slipped the phone back into his bag, because his dad had made it abundantly clear how fast his phone would disappear if he texted while driving, and murmured, “Thank goodness for Sam.”  At Puck’s lifted eyebrow, Kurt added, “He’s on our side.  Secretly, anyway.”

“Artie, too,” Puck said.  “He knows the bro code.”

Kurt frowned, because that should have sounded ridiculous, but Puck’s tone was so flat that it really just came out kind of sad.  “What did Lauren say?”

“Dude, where were you?”

“Getting thrown into a wall.  By you.”

“Oh.  My bad.”

Kurt sighed.  “After which I was busy getting told by Mercedes that I’m a lying, cheating jerk who did everything wrong.”  That hurt more than  
he’d expected it to, and he shook his head.  “Lauren?”

“She said I’m on notice.”  Puck frowned and turned to face Kurt for the first time since they’d gotten in the car.  “What the hell does that even mean?”

“I may speak girl, but I’m not fluent in her particular variation,” Kurt muttered.  “It probably means no sex until she feels like it.”

“Dude, she hasn’t even put _out_.  That’s the thing.  We make out, and the second I get near her pants, all of a sudden I’m halfway across the room and she’s walking out the door.”

Kurt didn’t quite succeed at stifling a laugh, and Puck’s frown tuned into a glower.  “Shut it, Hummel.”

“I appreciate a woman with standards.”

“I appreciate a woman with giant boobs.  What’s your point?”

“You straight boys and your obsession with things that squish.”  Kurt shook his head.  “Not appealing.”

Puck frowned a moment, and didn’t say anything.  Kurt rolled his eyes.  “Sorry.  Too gay for you?”

“Huh?  No.  Well, yeah.  But.”  He shook his head with a weird expression on his face.  “For a minute I kind of forgot you were gay.”

“…Oh.”

Kurt turned onto Puck’s street and started on the last seven blocks to his house.  They sat silently for three, and at a stop sign, Kurt turned to look at him.  “Really?”

Puck shrugged.

“…How?”

“How the hell should I know?”  Puck slouched down a little more and looked moodily out the window.  “It’s not like I _forgot_ forgot, I just mean it wasn’t the first thing on my mind.  In my head, you’re usually ‘the gay dude,’ but just now--I mean, before you gayed it up by ragging on my girlfriend’s boobs--you were ‘the kid that’s still talking to me after the Queen Bee bitchslapped him for it.’”  He shrugged again.  “So I forgot.”

“Oh.  Well, um.  Now that you remember…is that a problem?”

He shook his head, easily and immediately.  “We’re cool.”

Kurt was still shaking off the weirdness of that exchange when he pulled into Puck’s driveway, like he had every week that summer.  Puck undid his seatbelt and got out without saying anything, and Kurt understood the sentiment, so he was already halfway to putting the car in reverse when he realized the passenger door was still open, and Puck was leaning in, looking at him like he was a crazy person.  “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

And didn’t _that_ just take Kurt straight back to the June afternoon when all this started, but he kept that bit of irony to himself.  “Home.  I do my best wallowing there.”

“Dude.  Wallow here.  I’ve still got every intention of getting crunk tonight, and I’m sure as shit not gonna do it alone.  That’s pathetic as hell.”

In spite of himself, Kurt had to agree.

It was a little surreal to walk into Puck’s house, because he had just always assumed it was a place he would never have reason to be.  His mom barely looked up from her phone conversation when they passed through the living room toward the stairs.

“She’ll be out of here soon,” Puck said as Kurt followed him up.  “Third shift during the week.”

As they ascended the staircase, Kurt frowned at the sound of a thumping beat coming from behind a closed door.  “What is that?”

“Jordie,” Puck said, pounding out a rhythm on the door with his fists as they passed it.  “Pipsqueak turned eleven and decided she knows better than me about what good music is.”  He shrugged as he led Kurt through the doorway of what was clearly his room--bigger than Kurt would have pictured for him, and exactly as messy.  But he had a TV, and a dark red futon in the corner, and looking around, Kurt found he actually approved of most of the band posters slapped up on the walls.  The whole room smelled faintly of cologne.

Puck set down his guitar, then tossed his grocery bag on his bed and dropped down next to it.  “No worries, though.  My speakers beat hers hands-down.”

“Noah!” Puck’s mom called from downstairs.  “Didn’t you have a party tonight?”

“Party sucked,” Puck shouted back down.  “We’re sticking around.”

“Then I’m calling the Cohens to tell Martha she doesn’t need to come watch your sister.  That means Noah is in charge, do you hear me, Jordana?”

“ _Fine_ ,” a high voice huffed from the room next door.

“You know the rules, Noah.  I’m counting on you to _follow them_.  Do you understand me?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Puck called back, grimacing a little.

“All right.  I’ll be back at seven.”

“Later,” Puck said, while next door his sister shouted, “Bye!”

A minute later, and the front door shut.  Puck let out his breath, still making a face.  “She’s been pulling the ‘I’m counting on you’ card ever since I went to juvie.  Think she figured out I feel like an asshole every time she says it.”

Kurt shrugged.  “Whatever works, I suppose.”  He paused, and they both glanced toward the wall Puck shared with his sister when the pop music shot up in volume.  Puck rolled his eyes, and Kurt shifted his weight, still standing a little awkwardly in the middle of the room.  He palmed his phone in his bag, then pulled it out.  “Um.  Well, I need to call and update my dad.  And probably attempt some damage control with Blaine,” he added with a sigh, holding up his phone.  “It’s quieter downstairs, so.”

“Go for it,” Puck said, starting to pull out can after can from the grocery bag.  As Kurt headed for the door, Puck added, “Don’t get dumped.”

Kurt winced.  “Very reassuring, Noah.  Thank you.”

One lamp was still on in the living room when he got down there, the thump of Jordie’s stereo now distant and not so bothersome.  He didn’t bother to turn on any more lights, instead just sitting on the edge of the couch and dialing his dad.  The call was short and vague, just asking permission to stay the night (he didn’t mention where) and check in tomorrow, and because he had mastered the art of sneaking his champion pouty-face into his voice, it barely took any effort to bring him around.  So he said good-night, promised he’d call in the morning, and hung up.

Then it was time for Blaine.

Kurt took a deep breath, staring at Blaine’s name in his contacts for a bit before slowly pressing _Call_.  He wasn’t entirely sure where he was going to start, but he could only hope that he was getting to Blaine before anyone else did.

The call went straight to voicemail, and Kurt let out the breath he’d been holding, rolling his eyes.  Blaine was notoriously terrible at charging his phone, and then he was always surprised when it died on him.  Kurt listened to Blaine’s voicemail greeting, closing his eyes and pretending he was right next to him until the machine beeped.

“Hi,” he said to Blaine’s voice mailbox.  “It’s me.  Miss you,” he softly added, because that was how he’d been greeting Blaine all summer.  “I just wanted to warn you that there’s, um.  There’s some craziness happening back here in Ohio--nothing life-threatening, just some high-drama situations--so I wanted to give you a heads-up before you heard it from anyone else.  So, call me, okay?  Okay.”  He only hesitated a moment.  “Love you.”

He hadn’t even lifted his finger from the _End Call_ key when Puck emerged from the hall with a dismayed, “Whoa!”

Kurt arched an eyebrow.  “Yes?”

“Dropping the L-bomb on the guy’s voicemail?  Seriously?”

It was hard to tell whether he was disturbed or impressed, and either way, Kurt felt no shame when he answered, “Yes.  And for your information, he said it to me first.  Several months ago, actually.”

“Damn.”  Puck shook his head, his eyes still a little wide as he handed Kurt a beer.  “You don’t fuck around.”

Kurt smiled a bit, for some reason feeling a little sad, and cracked the can open.  “I do not.”

-

An hour and a half later, Kurt was maybe a little drunk.

Either that, or Mario Party 8 was actually a really hard game.

“Wait--wait.  Noah.  Wait.  This mini-game.  We’re…shaking a can.”

“Yep.”

“Up and down.”

“Yep.”

“As fast as we can, until…”

“Until it shoots off.  Yep.”

Kurt collapsed into chuckles, hiding his face in his hands a moment before coming back out.  “That…that--wow.”  He caught his breath, then thought about it, then shook his head.  “That is _gay_.”

Puck nearly spat his drink across the room.

“No.  I mean it.  _Gay_.  Like, gayer than _I_ am.  We're having gay sexy-time with these Wii-motes.”

Something or other flew across the room and bounced off his head, and it was most likely Puck’s way of telling him to stop talking, since Puck was laughing really hard and maybe not breathing.

“Okay.  Right.  We should start.  It’s supposed to go fast, right?  Wait--do we want it to go fast?  Is it bad if my can explodes early?”

“ _Dude_ ,” Puck finally managed to gasp.  “Dude, fucking stop, _seriously_.”

“I think it’s a legitimate concern.  I’m concerned.  If I don’t win, I’m going to be very, very concerned.”

“Fuck, shut up, I’m gonna start it.”

“Because I’m gay.”

“No shit.  Okay.”  Puck took a breath, then pressed _Start_.  “Last mini-game.  For all the candy, bitches.”

“Oh my God,” Kurt said, laughing again as they began shaking the Wii-motes.  “This is horrific.”

“Yeah, take it _all_ , Hammer Bro.”

“Oh, ew.”

“Well speed up, dude, or fucking Peach is gonna beat you.”

“Peach’s a whore.  She has a lot--lot of practice.”  The timer hit zero, and their characters’ cans shot out colorful streams of soda, and it was so ridiculous that Kurt laughed even harder, so much that he didn’t even see who’d won until Puck whooped and declared, “Wario’s the winner, glee-otch!”

Kurt groaned, sitting back while Puck clicked through the final game results, the volume up so high that they could probably hear it next door.  Puck and Jordie had been in a stereo-fight all evening, but Puck was right--his speakers were pretty much awesome.

“Whore!” Kurt called when Peach was crowned the Superstar over both him and Puck.  Then he shook his head, because goodness. Maybe he _was_ a little drunk.

A new [song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1jkH7An7dKk) started in Jordie’s room as Puck turned off the TV, and without the cheery background music of the video game, he could hear her stereo like it was right in front of him.  Which it probably almost was.  And the song was…

Oh, my.

“…Is your sister listening to the Backstreet Boys?”

“Yeah,” Puck said, actually bobbing his head a little to the intro.  “She had Bieber Fever until I joined forces with Sam on the Justin Bieber Experience and totally ruined it for her.  Which, _score_.  But she went crying to our cousin Shiloh right before she went off to college, and she hooked her up with the old-school ‘90s shit.”  He shrugged.  “At least it’s not those ‘Mmbop‘ chick-dudes.”

“Definitely an improvement.  I’m impressed,” Kurt said, wiggling a bit to the beat.  “I always liked Kevin.”

“Dude, the _old_ guy?”

Kurt shrugged.  “He had expressive eyebrows.  Blaine has those, too.  It’s a turn-on.”

Puck made a face, and Kurt started singing along and hamming it up, partly because he sensed he may have just said something embarrassing, but mostly just to bother him.  Puck rolled his eyes at him, but looked like he was trying not to laugh.

How this transitioned into Kurt standing on Puck’s bed in Puck’s _Lady Is A Tramp_ fedora and belting along with the Rock Band mic (it occurred to him later that it might actually have been a shoe) while Puck tore up the air guitar on his knees on the floor, Kurt couldn’t be quite sure.  But he _was_ pretty sure that he was maybe a little more drunk than he thought, and that this was pretty much the best song _ever_ , so he hopped clumsily down and kept bopping to the beat while Puck transitioned from air guitar to air-humping, harmonizing as they burned through the chorus.  Puck threw out a hand for Kurt to pull him up, then dragged Kurt to the wall he shared with his sister so they could belt along, “That’s what makes you larger than _li-iiiife_!”

“Noah!  No- _ah_!  Stop it, you _jerk_ , you’re ruining it!” Jordie shouted through the wall, but Kurt was busy half-laughing-half-harmonizing with the chorus and working his hips with the beat and then laughing all over again when Puck grabbed him by the sides and it tickled, and they were actually kind of dancing together for a second before Kurt tripped over something--maybe air--and flopped awkwardly onto the futon, giggling uncontrollably.  Puck pounded on his sister’s wall along with the drums as the song finished up, making her shout more protests and pound back, and Kurt pulled himself together just enough to join Puck on the last note, squeezing his eyes shut and throwing up a Mercedes diva-hand.

The song ended, and they chuckled for a while because God they were drunk and that totally just happened, and then Puck was dead serious and kicking his foot.  “You tell anyone about that and I’ll kick your ass.”  A beat.  “And you dance like a chick.”

“You dance like a male stripper.  Call it even,” Kurt replied, still a little giggly and floaty, holding the fedora over his face until he could catch his breath.  He tried to kick Puck back, but he realized on the third attempt that Puck was all the way over on his bed now.  “Hey,” he said, frowning.

Puck was already laughing at him.  “Dude, you’re so wasted.”

“Noah Puckerman,” Kurt said after the hat was back to tilting down a little over one eye, a little amazed he could get Puck’s name out because it was awfully long.  “I will have you know that I’ve only been wasted _one_ other time, and it was not awesome because I threw up on Ms. Pillsbury’s shoes.  And now I can’t look at muscle magazines anymore.  Something I find incre--in _credibly_ unfortunate.”  Puck didn’t even pretend like he didn’t find that hilarious, and Kurt continued, “ _But._   But.  This time, this, this wasted-time?  This is fantastic.  Wasted is _fantastic_.”  He paused a moment with his head still cushioned on the futon, his voice dropping to a stage-whisper.  “Your ceiling is moving.”

“Noah!”  Puck’s door flew open and banged against the wall, making Kurt jump (though he was far too relaxed to jump, really, so it was more like one of his feet kicking a little all by itself).  The room was rocking too much for him to get a good look, but it looked like Puck’s sister was in the door.  Possibly fuming.

“Whoops,” Kurt said, for no particular reason, then pulled the hat down over his eyes and bit back another laugh because if he started, he doubted he’d be able to stop.

“That’s my name,” Puck drawled, and at first Kurt peeked out from under the fedora in confusion before realizing he was responding to his sister, not to ‘whoops.’  Because that certainly was not his name.

Jordie crossed her arms and jutted out her hip, and he was immediately fond of her.  “I’m telling Mom you’re getting drunk again with your stupid friends!”

Puck hopped off the bed to walk up to her.  “Then _I’m_ telling Mom you got your tongue pierced without permission.”

“Ew, my tongue isn’t pierced!”

“Yet,” Puck said, grinning like a shark.  “Sweet dreams.”

His sister shrieked and fled back into her room with both hands over her mouth, and Puck snorted.  “Too easy.”

“You are terrible,” Kurt said, and damn it, he was laughing again.  He wasn’t going to do that.

“Do what I gotta do,” Puck said.  He disappeared for a second and came back with two cups and a pill bottle.  He shut the door behind him and set one of the cups on the end table by Kurt’s head, snatching up his hat and giving him two pats to the chest as he passed.  “Drink up, Hummel.”

“Oh, God.  If I drink more, I’m going to throw up on _your_ shoes.  Or on this shirt I’m wearing, and it cost like three-three--no, four…four million--wait.”

“It’s water, dude,” Puck said, stumbling back to his bed and tossing the fedora somewhere in the vicinity of the coat tree.  “You’re such a frickin’ lightweight, need to make sure you don’t die.”

“Oh.  That’s very nice of you,” Kurt murmured, working very hard on making his arms do what he was telling them to.  With much toil, he somehow ended up in a sitting position.  There were two aspirin next to his cup, which was very thoughtful indeed.

“Hey,” Puck said after a moment, when Kurt was putting the now-empty cup down and maybe missing the end table a little.  “That stuff you said in Rachel’s basement was pretty dope.”

“I’m good at saying dope stuff,” Kurt said automatically, sliding back until he was sprawled across the futon just like he had been.  He closed his eyes.  “It’s my defense mechanis--mechanicis--strategy.  Gonna end up in a dumpster, better at least say dope stuff,” he added in a sing-song.

Puck was quiet for a few seconds.  “Yeah,” he said in a softer voice.  “Thanks for having my back.  Seriously.”

“Anytime,” Kurt said, smiling because it was nice to be thanked.  “Thanks for treating me like a guy.”

“What?”

Kurt wasn’t sure where that came from, but he’d been thinking it for a while anyway, so he shrugged.  “A lot of people don’t.  Even my dad, when, when he met Finn, he asked if I felt left out when they started having ‘guy-talk.’”  He laughed, a little bitterly.  “I know I do a lot of girl-type things and my voice is….my voice, but I also fix cars and kick field goals and snipe on Halo _far_ better than Finn can.  And I have a penis.  A rather impressive one, actually.”

“No shit.”

“ _No_ shit.  There is no shitting whatsoever.  Zero shit.”  He pointed at Puck the way his dad sometimes pointed at him, to mean ‘ _really_ no shit.’  “Finn’s been better.  Now that we’re kind of related, he’s allowed to just hang out with me.  Talk.  Play Xbox.  Sing along with Carole’s _terrible_ disco CDs while we put together this desk for the den that showed up in like five ga-jillion pieces.  But if we weren’t stepbrothers, I don’t think he would do that with me, just hang out like friends.  I didn’t ever think you would, either.  Because I kind of thought you were still sort of grossed out by me like other guys are.”  He smiled at Puck again, sleepily.  “So thanks.”

Puck quietly replied, “Forget it.”  Then, after a beat, “What about the dudes at your other school?”

“Hm?  Oh, they were nice,” Kurt said.  “A lot of them kept to themselves, though.  I mostly hung out with Blaine.”

That didn’t get a reply, and Kurt didn’t mind.  He snuggled back into the crease between the bottom of the futon and the back, his eyes drooping.  Then a pillow hit him in the head.

“Hey!” he whined, but then a blanket landed on him, too, and it made more sense.  “Oh.  Never mind.”

He sluggishly got himself situated, not even caring enough to ask the fiber count of the pillowcase, while Puck kicked off his shoes and  
switched on the TV.  He put the volume down low.  “You gonna crash?”

Kurt only hummed something mildly affirmative, nodding against the pillow and gripping it like a teddy bear, and Puck rolled out of bed.  The  
light turned off.

He was already drifting when Puck’s mattress squeaked again, and as the minutes ticked by his thoughts went all funny and strange like they did when he was falling asleep, but Puck’s voice brought him back, so quiet he almost missed it.  

“My dad hit my mom.”

Kurt pried his eyes open again and turned to look at Puck, his face barely illuminated by the TV.  His brow was furrowed at the ceiling, his mouth in a thin line.  Lowering his voice because this felt like a secret, Kurt said, “He did?”

Puck swallowed hard, and it looked like he’d passed the part where drinking made things better, started slipping into the part where it made things worse.  “Ever since I can remember.  He was fine with me and Jordie, but not with her.  He couldn’t keep it under control.  One minute they’re screaming at each other, next minute she’s on the floor.  Then they’re done screaming.”

Kurt almost crossed the room to give him a hug, but just barely managed to recognize that as the alcohol talking.  Instead, he stayed where he was and kept quiet, not entirely sure where this was going.

Puck took a deep breath.  “I need to stay away from Quinn.”

“What?”

“You know what,” Puck said.  “You’re the one who stopped me.”

It took a long moment of swimming through muddled memories of his time with Puck for Kurt to land on one that made sense with the rest of this.  “Tonight?”

Silence.

“When she said Beth wasn’t anything?”

Puck’s eyes were too shiny, still locked on the ceiling.  His voice came out very soft and a little scared.  “I don’t know what I was gonna do.”

“Noah, you wouldn’t have hurt her,” Kurt said, really wanting Puck to believe that because it was too strange for him to sound so small.  “You would never.”

“You don’t know that.”  Puck closed his eyes a second.  “I’ve never been that pissed in my life.  Like everything went red.  You’re the only reason I didn’t…fuck.”

Kurt lowered his eyes, because his world had never turned red before either, and he could see how it would be scary if it did.  “Noah,” he said, “nobody is the same person as their father.  Or their mom.  Or anyone but themselves.  If you decide not to be like him, you won’t be like him.  You’ll just be like you.”

“Then how come this shit is happening?”  Puck’s voice broke a little, but he still wouldn’t look at Kurt.  “My dad beat the shit out of my mom and decided he didn’t want to see us again.  Five fucking years later, Shelby’s taking Beth away so I can’t see _her_ , and the only reason I didn’t do the same thing to Quinn is because you’ve got fast reflexes from six years of _me_ fucking up your head.”

“Hey,” Kurt said softly, finally sitting up a little, scooting back against the wall.  “That’s not…no.  Just no.  Just…look.”  At length, Puck did.  Kurt straightened his thoughts, not totally trusting himself to articulate them properly just now, but determined to try.  “I don’t know anything about your family.  But I know what you just said about it.  So.  You said your dad left.  He _left_.  Meaning he chose to, right?”  A stiff nod.  “You’re not choosing to leave Beth.  Shelby chose that.”

“She won’t know that.”

“There are ways to still be there when you’re not _there_ there, though,” Kurt said, and that sentence didn’t sound quite so topsy-turvy in his head, but oh well.  “You _want_ to be there for her, and that’s different than what you said about your dad.  Right?”

Puck sighed.  “Yeah.”

“Okay.  And then, and then there’s Quinn.  So, okay, not good.  You shouldn’t have done that.  But you know you shouldn’t have, and you’re already trying to get better, and you’re not saying it was her fault for making you mad.  You’re saying you should go away because you never want to almost do that again.  That’s different than him, too.  Right?”

“You talk like Finn when you’re hammered.”

“I’m kind of aware.  But he’s good at making me feel better when I feel ugly, so.  Compliment.”  He cleared his throat.  “As for me.  The bullying, and whatnot.  Also not good.  But I know you’re trying.  David told me you told the football team you’d twist their balls off with Velcro gloves if they bullied me while my dad was in the hospital.  That was very sweet of you, if terrifying.  And it worked.”

“Who the hell is--”

“Oh.  Karofsky.  We’re Facebook friends now.  He has funny statuses.  Stati.  S--those.”

“Oh.”

“More importantly,” Kurt said, hugging his knees, “I’m not scared of you anymore.  I’m not scared when you stand by a dumpster.  I’m not scared to be alone with you.  I’m not scared when you touch me, except that one time.  Because I know you decided to stop, and you did.  Just like I know you’ve already decided to stop…whatever it is with you and Quinn, before it even starts, and I know you will.”

Puck was quiet for a long time.  Then, in a low voice, “If I wake up one morning and find out I’m just like him, I’m gonna fucking kill myself.”

“You won’t,” Kurt murmured back.  “And then you really would be abandoning Beth.”

Puck heaved a long, slow sigh.  “I owe you.”

“Mm, no.  No owing.  Just keep being Noah instead of Puckzilla.  Or Daddy, that works too.  Hers, not yours.”  Kurt blinked, frowned.  “Were those words?”

That at least earned a small snort.  “Sleep it off, Hummel.”

Kurt hummed agreement and let himself slip back down onto his side, burrowing into the pillow.  “Noah?”

“What?”

“I think you’re a wonderful dad.”

Puck’s response was so tiny that Kurt barely heard it.  “Yeah?”

Kurt nodded.

They said nothing more, and Puck was still staring at the ceiling when Kurt drifted into unconsciousness.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Puck comes to Kurt for help, and Kurt figures it can’t hurt to do a friend a favor. Unfortunately, everything is more complicated when there’s a baby involved.

Kurt woke up to Puck kicking at his foot again, and the moment he opened his eyes, he swore--a big rarity for him--and buried his face back into his pillow. Unfortunately, the rest of his body seemed to notice that he was awake and chose then to tell him exactly what it thought about copious amounts of alcohol. “Oh my _God_.”

“Okay, sweet. Just making sure you weren’t dead.”

“Am. Close. Dying.” That had somehow made sense in his head. Then again, his head was not feeling terribly useful or un-cracked-in-half just now, so it wasn’t all that surprising.

"Damn. Okay. Scale of one to fuck-you. How hung over are you?"

Kurt moaned miserably into the pillow.

"Figured. Sit up, dude."

He shook his head by centimeters, clutching the pillow tighter. "If I move, I'll vomit and die," he croaked without lifting his face from it. "All your fault."

"Yep." Puck's hands were worming their way under Kurt's arms, and then he was being bodily lifted into a sitting position while he let out a loud whine of protest. Once his back was against the futon, he pulled his knees to his chest and rested the pillow on them, never taking it off his eyes. His head was pounding so hard that he was thought he might actually cry a little, and he groaned when he realized his stomach was churning in time with the throbbing. And he really had to pee. And half of his face hurt, like someone had slapped him really hard.

Oh, wait.

"I hate everything," he moaned.

"You and me both. Come on, I got a hangover-cure. I figured it out freshman year when I was mixing up gross stuff to see if it’d blow up." Puck was tugging at the pillow. Kurt held fast, because _no_. "Seriously. Let go."

"No."

"It's either drop it now or I'm blasting the shower on cold and throwing you in. Your call."

Kurt just groaned again and held on tight.

"Fair warning," Puck said, and Kurt gasped when he was hoisted straight up in the air, dropping the pillow to scrabble at Puck's shoulders for balance. A flash of daylight shot straight through his eyes and into his brain, and he let out a pitiful yelp, holding tight around Puck's neck and burying his face in his shoulderblade as he was piggybacked out the door.

It took him a second to notice that they were definitely moving toward the bathroom. "Oh, God--are you kidding me right now? Puck, don't," he pleaded, a little pathetically.

"Told you. Fair warning."

"I don’t have the, that, that thing anymore!" Kurt argued into Puck’s shirt because that made perfect sense, kicking weakly and smacking at his back. "I dropped it when you _mauled and kidnapped_ me. Noah!" He lifted his head just a little, only cracking his eyes open enough to gasp and catch the bathroom doorframe before he could be carried through. "Noah Puckerman, put me down right now or I _will_ start humping your ass."

Puck stopped dead. "Dude! Gay!"

"Kurt Hummel. Nice to meet you. Step away from the shower."

Puck seemed to consider calling his bluff for a moment, and Kurt summoned what little smartass-energy he had left and tilted his hips back. "Fair warning."

He was dropped so fast that he noticed his butt hurting before noticing he hadn't landed on his feet. And wow, he _really_ had to pee now. He glared up at Puck, then braced himself on the doorway to slowly, slowly pull himself up, his voice straining as he said, "Thank you. Thank you for that."

Puck still looked decidedly uncomfortable (and not a little hung over himself), and Kurt would have rolled his eyes if it wouldn't have made his head explode. "I promise I'm not going to hump you. I do have standards. And feel slightly like I was hit in the head with a train."

The quip seemed to help Puck shake it off, and he crossed his arms in a challenge. "I call bullshit. Everyone wants a piece of the Puckmeister."

"You keep telling yourself that, Noah."

"You totally want to hit this."

"Not particularly."

"Dude, you're so lying."

"Can we get back to the subject of why you just almost signed your own death warrant by getting my clothes wet?" Kurt asked, his voice still crackly, stretching his thumb and forefinger across his eyes and trying not to dance in place to distract from his rather insistent bladder. "Or at least let me in there by myself to let nature take its course?"

Puck snorted and stepped out of the doorway. "Knew you were lying."

Kurt flipped him the finger and shut the door in his face.

-

Both surprisingly and not surprisingly, Puck turned out to be very, very good in a hangover crisis. He kept Kurt’s glass filled with water and threw things at him whenever he stopped drinking it, and let him borrow a McKinley XXL T-shirt and sweatpants when thirty-plus hours in his skinny jeans began to take their toll, and offered him his homemade anti-hangover concoction (and knelt next to him and rubbed his back and muttered helpful encouragements like “Let it out, kid,” when he threw it up in the toilet five minutes later).

In the meantime, they sat on Puck’s bed and watched bad reality TV on very low volume for a while, switching off with Puck’s laptop to check all their usual sites. (Kurt was very, very tempted to glance at Puck’s browser history when he wasn’t looking, but then thought for a moment about what he might actually find there and decided against it for the sake of his innocence.) He ended up avoiding Facebook after looking for a minute and seeing the flood of status updates from that morning and the previous night:

_**Rachel Barbra Berry**  
She was never mine to lose; Why regret what cannot be? These are words she’ll never say, Not to me..._

_**Quinn Fabray**  
My Facebook is going to disappear for a while. I’m tired of other people prying into parts of my life that are none of their business._

_**Brittany S. Pierce**  
i think my frends need to talk to lord tubbington he can help them work out there issues. exept puck, because hes to mean to my other frends_

_**Santana Fucking Lopez**  
Puck Zilla and Kurt Elizabeth Hummel are doin the nasty. 69 all nite long. Tell your friends!_

_**Artie ‘Prof X’ Abrams**  
Bitches be goin mad craycray up in here..._

_**Mike Chang**  
Can’t we all just get along? :(_

_**Mercedes Jones**  
Hot Damn Mess. Approach with caution if you talk to me, cause imma cut somebody._

_**Finn Hudson**  
from now on no one talk to me unless ur not gonna lie to me._

That one had been particularly painful.

After Kurt had called to check in with his dad, explaining in vague terms just how _he_ was the one hanging out at Puckerman’s while Finn was the one sitting on his phone with Rachel all day, it had hit him that for all the drama that had surrounded that stupid, life-ruining article, he and Puck had skipped a fairly crucial detail.

He turned to Puck. "Did you ever actually _read_ Jacob’s article?"

"Nah," Puck said, his voice still rough with his hangover. He'd stretched out on the mattress in yesterday’s wrinkled jeans and white undershirt an hour ago, and now watched the TV screen with muted interest as the Top Model contestants had their swimsuit photo-shoot. "Didn't even see the headline. Kinda got distracted by life sucking."

"Mm."

"You gonna?"

Kurt nodded, tentatively clicking through. "Might as well. Wish us luck." Puck snorted, and if he was being honest with himself, Kurt‘s hopes weren’t much higher.

He opened the article, and began to read.

And then stopped.

And then read some more.

His heart began to throb in his ears. _Oh, no._

Suddenly the mattress was shifting, and Puck was sitting up. "Shit, dude."

"What?"

"How do you go that white that fast without passing out?" He tugged his laptop more onto Kurt's right leg, leaning in to read over his shoulder. "Lemme see."

Kurt stayed silent, lowering his eyes from the screen. He should move. Get it over with before Puck recoiled from him, or kicked him out. Getting some distance on his own, at least, would hurt less.

But Puck went still, and Kurt was frozen. "I'm sorry," Kurt said in almost a whisper, still looking down. "I swear, I didn't know he was going to write it like that." Puck didn't say anything, and Kurt started pulling into himself, creating some space between them. "I...I'll talk to Jacob, I'll figure something out. I'm really sorry--"

"Dude."

Kurt snapped his mouth shut, tense as a bowstring and waiting for the fallout. He'd lost all of his friends but one, and now that one was going to run as far away as he could. He was going to start his senior year the exact same way he’d started his freshman year: alone, reviled, and invisible.

What he wasn’t expecting Puck to say was, "Calm the fuck down."

It surprised him into glancing back, and he faltered when he found that Puck hadn't pulled away. He frowned back at Kurt without moving an inch. "Seriously. Cut it out." Puck's arm shot around his waist to yank him back onto the mattress from where he'd started to edge away.

Kurt hit the mattress with a grunt, blinking as Puck's arm pulled back. "Did you…read any of it?"

"The part where he basically says we're fucking? Yeah."

It took a second for Kurt to close his mouth. "…Oh."

"You honestly think I give a crap what it says?" Puck scrolled down, lingered a moment on a photo of himself holding Beth and looking down into the pond. "You think any one of us dudes hasn't been called gay since joining glee club? Big fucking deal."

He scrolled down some more, and Kurt winced when they came on another photo, this one of when he was trying to wrestle Puck away from his hair. They were both laughing at the same time, weirdly enough, and Kurt had a hold of both of Puck's wrists, and taken out of context, it did sort of look…crap.

Kurt slumped forward, holding his hand across his eyes again because this was making his head throb. “Oh my God.”

“I said cut it out. Who cares? You ever seen the guys’ locker room after we score a win? It’s like WWE meets softcore gay porno. This isn’t shit.”

Kurt dared to peek out from behind his hand, looking warily at Puck with one eye. “Why are you having such a good attitude about this?”

Puck just shrugged, and Kurt sighed, dropping his hand and picking up where he left off. Puck kept control of the article, scrolling down slowly enough to let them both read.

Apparently, they were lovers. Apparently, they had been moonlighting since long before June. Adoption was only the latest stage of their ‘relationship‘; it was grown from freshman-year ’dumpster-dating,’ and from stolen moments in the visiting room of the Lima Juvenile Detention Center, and from a week locked in a Port-A-Potty after failing to avenge a lost love (for some reason, Puck choked on his water at that part and coughed until Kurt gave him a couple of concerned pats on the back).

Apparently, after returning from ‘Hogwarts School of Gaycraft and Gayetry, ‘ Kurt had decided that one man was hardly enough to sate his bottomless gay desire for man-flesh.

Apparently, hooking up with ‘the rosy-cheeked manchild’ (Kurt couldn’t quite decide whether he wanted to punch the laptop screen or throw up again; in a staggering show of restraint, he managed to do neither) was the only way for Puck to feel like a man again after his testicles had taken up residence next to Lauren Zizes’ wrestling trophy.

It had two hundred forty-eight pageviews.

This time, self-restraint didn’t cut it.

-

“Shit, Hummel, you trying to break a record or what?” Puck asked, squatting next to Kurt and giving him a couple of pats on the back as he coughed once more, then reached to flush the contents of his stomach down the toilet a second time, pale and panting.

Two hundred forty-eight. Over half the student body.

“Dude, you’re not gonna faint or anything, are you? ‘Cause no way am I doing CPR after that kind of barfage.”

It would take one comment. One word. And if it were any other guy in the world, it wouldn’t matter, but it was Kurt, so it _would_. And then Puck would have to save himself, and Kurt would be on his own, because the rest of his friends were gone.

“No,” he heard himself murmur in response.

Mercedes hated him. Finn hated him. Rachel, and Quinn, and Santana. He’d hurt them all.

Blaine still hadn’t called him back; he had probably seen the article already, and would never call again.

Kurt had talked to Shelby Corcoran, and _five minutes_ later, she’d decided to take Puck’s little girl away. Puck was going to be attacked by everyone for this stupid, stupid article, and he wasn’t going to have Beth, and he wasn’t going to want Kurt anywhere close, and he’d have no friends, and without anyone there for him he’d sink and sink and then do something stupid and go to jail and it would be _all Kurt’s fault_ and--

“Shit, okay. You’re freaking out. I’ve got this.” Puck’s hands were gripping his shoulders, coaxing him off his knees until he was sitting on the bathroom floor, his back against the tub. Kurt immediately hugged his knees to his chest, his head drooping forward until his bangs brushed them.

He wasn’t doing a single good thing for a single person in his life.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into his knees.

“Seriously, knock it off with the groveling. It’s weird.” Puck settled his back against the tub next to him, crossing his arms. “What’s your problem?”

And that wasn’t a question he could answer completely, not right now. Too softly, he just said, “I’m sorry it’s me.”

Puck didn’t answer, or ask what he meant, and Kurt didn’t look up again. He hated when he started feeling ugly like this, especially in front of other people. Only Finn, Blaine, and his dad had ever seen it before now, and they were close. They knew what he needed them to be: an arm around his shoulders, or a kiss to his knuckles, or a hug, or--

A hand clapped down on his shoulder, then gave it a firm squeeze, then was gone as soon as it had come. Quietly, just like last night, Puck said, “I told you. We’re cool.”

And he sat with him as the seconds ticked into minutes, saying nothing more until Kurt’s mind had calmed enough for him to lift his head again, face the world again. Kurt took a long, slow breath, then finally sat back, digging his fingers through his hair. “Sorry. Sometimes I just need a moment.”

“I feel ya.” Puck studied him a second, then seemed satisfied and hefted himself to his feet. “You gonna puke again if you stand up?”

“I’ll actually be impressed if I do. I don’t think there’s anything left in there,” Kurt murmured, gingerly rubbing his stomach before holding onto the side of the tub and pushing himself up. He only swayed for a second before his legs remembered how to stand up, and he let out his breath, making a face when his stomach informed him that it was now both empty _and_ unhappy.

“I think we’ve got some ginger ale or something in the fridge,” Puck said. “Guess if we don’t, there’s still some beer left. That’s bubbly.”

Kurt stared at him, and his expression must have been exceptional, because Puck snorted a laugh, seeming to surprise himself with it. Kurt rolled his eyes and gave him a halfhearted shove out the door. “Ginger ale or nothing, thank you. If you’ll excuse me, I have a second date with your Listerine.”

“Kinky.”

“Ew.”

That self-satisfied smirk eased back onto Puck’s face, and he disappeared from the doorway, thumping down the stairs. Kurt studied himself in the mirror a moment--hollow-eyed and unkempt and really, what a mess--before opening it to take the mouthwash. First, he would get the vomit-taste out of his mouth. Then he would worry about everything else.

“One thing at a time,” he murmured to his reflection.

One thing at a time.

-

By the time Kurt pulled in to his own driveway, more or less pulled together in his own clothes and still shaking his head over the fact that he’d just had an hour-long debate with Puckerman about whether it should or should not have been Renee stomping it out against Jaslene in the final runway show, the air was cooling and the shadows were stretched long across the ground. He turned off the engine and stared at his front door. Checked himself in the mirror. Fiddled with the strap on his messenger bag.

Another moment, and he let out his breath and muttered to himself, “For goodness’ sake.”

He would be fine, he determined as he headed toward the front door.

He hadn’t heard a word from Finn or from Blaine, and his dad was probably waiting to demand an explanation for the change in last night’s plans, and he did look a whole lot like he was doing the walk of shame right now as he grimaced against the sunlight and crossed the yard in yesterday’s clothes, but he would be fine.

He reached the front door, and stood there, rehearsing what he was going to say to his dad and Finn and Carole one more time in his head.

Just fine. Totally fine. Fine, fine, fine.

Just as he lifted his key toward the lock, though, the door swung open, nearly making him jump out of his skin and sending his lines flying out of his head.

Finn stared down at him, the way one might stare at somebody through a ten-foot-thick stone wall.

Kurt gaped stupidly for a second, grasping for any last wisps of whatever he’d told himself he would say, and only belatedly noticed the phone against Finn’s ear.

Finn looked him up and down, then looked away. “Yeah. He just got here.” Rachel’s tinny voice chattered through the phone, loud enough to be heard but not understood. “Yeah. I’m not gonna.” A bit more chattering. “’Kay. Be there in a minute.”

He hung up, and Kurt seized his opportunity before it could vanish. “Finn--”

Finn turned his head completely away and called over his shoulder, “Kurt’s got a hangover!”

Kurt’s jaw dropped.

Finn turned back around and walked right by, bumping firmly and deliberately into Kurt’s shoulder as he passed, not sparing him another glance.

-

For all the thought he’d put into what he’d been sure were airtight, perfectly plausible explanations, Kurt ultimately found himself wondering why he’d bothered. He could barely lie to his dad about the time of day. As it was, his dad took one look at him, hardly thirty seconds after he’d gotten in the house, and that was all it took.

When asked if Finn’s accusation was true, he didn’t even bother with a denial.

Instead, he focused on the fact that they never left the safety of the house, that there had been absolutely no driving, and that the worst thing they did was play video games, badly, and jump around the room to nostalgic pop music. That he was aware that drinking was a poor choice, and that if his stomach had anything to say about it, he had certainly learned his lesson. That he truly was sorry for breaking their trust.

His dad’s frown eased a little bit with Kurt’s honesty, but deepened again when Kurt refused to answer any questions about Puck’s role in it all. And on that, Kurt didn’t budge.

Sighing, his dad rubbed a hand over his face while Carole eyed them from the kitchen sink. “I’ve gotta tell you, Kurt, you’re not doing yourself any favors by being stubborn here.” Kurt shrugged, his eyes down. “I’m glad you were safe, and that you didn’t try to drive back here while you still had that garbage in your system. But I know you know better than this. You’re smarter than this. You knowingly broke my rules, you broke the law, and for that, I’m really disappointed in you.”

Kurt cringed, because ever since last fall, those words always made him think of Mr. Schuester standing grimly in the doorway of his French class.

His dad must have noticed, because he sighed. “I’m just glad you’re all right. I believe you know you were wrong. But that doesn’t get you off the hook, kid.” Kurt glanced up, wondering if he just made his eyes a _little_ bigger, if his dad would soften up without realizing he was--

“Not gonna work. Put those away.” Damn it. “You’re grounded. No phone, no computer, no leaving this house without clearing it with me first.”

Kurt’s head shot up, his stomach dropping. “Dad, no.”

“You can have it all back the first day of school. Until then--”

“Dad, _no_ ,” Kurt said again, swallowing his panic. “Everything else is fine, but I _need_ my phone.”

“Think you can last half a week, kid.”

“No, you don’t understand. Blaine--”

“Has got his own life, just like you do. You’ll be fine.”

“ _Dad_ \--”

“Kurt. I’m not asking here.”

“He could _break up with me_ ,” Kurt blurted, his stomach starting to roil again. “There was a misunderstanding, and I called him to explain but I missed him, and he hasn’t called back, and if he does and I don’t answer for _four days_ , he’s going to think--”

“Kurt.” His dad looked at him, all humor gone from his face, and held out his hand. Kurt’s mouth closed. “Phone.”

This could not be happening.

Silently, Kurt pulled his phone out of his bag, glanced at it one more time on the vain hope that there would be a missed call--nothing--and straightened again, feeling wounded and utterly betrayed.

He was going to lose Blaine.

He blinked back the tears and carefully shut down the emotions in his face, then turned around and pressed the phone into his father’s hand with perhaps a little more force than necessary, his voice coming out flat and cold. “May I be excused?”

“I’ll be coming up for the computer cord.”

“No need.” His dad made a face like he was getting a headache, and Kurt spun on his heel and tramped up the stairs, yanked the power cord out of the wall and out of his computer, chucked it down to the bottom step, and slammed the door.

-

He wasn’t sure exactly how much time had passed when someone stopped outside his room and knocked. Of course, busy as he’d been working himself into a ball of nerves and nausea and woe, he hadn’t noticed much of anything.

Undoubtedly it was his dad, who hated fighting with him just as much as Kurt did, wanting to talk it out. Kurt was not in the mood to talk it out.

He was just opening his mouth to call, ‘Can’t talk, life ruined,’ when a voice that was definitely not his dad’s said, “Kurt, are you awake?”

Not his dad. Carole. Innocent bystander.

Kurt forced himself to take a calming breath and replied, “Yes. It’s open.”

Once she’d shut the door behind her, Carole came in and sat next to him on his bed. “How are you doing in here?”

Kurt picked an imaginary piece of lint off his pajama pants, which he’d changed into immediately after he was done blasting ‘Rose’s Turn’ on repeat through his speakers while having a minor nervous breakdown. (His dad had said phone, computer, and friends, not that he had many of those left. He hadn’t said anything about music. So _there_.) “Oh, you know.”

She patted his knee and gave it a squeeze. “Would this help at all?”

Kurt glumly lifted his eyes, then blinked them wide when he saw that she was holding his phone. He stared at it, then at her.

“I’m not getting in a discipline-war with your dad,” she assured him, smiling as she held it out to him. “You’re stuck there. But you got a call a few minutes ago, and--”

“What?!” Kurt snatched the phone from her hand, his breath sucking in when he looked at it.

_1 Missed Call: **Blaine**_

Oh God. Oh God, oh God.

“Here are the terms,” Carole said, gently placing her hand over the screen to get his attention back on her. “He left you a voicemail. You can listen to that, and then you can make one call--no longer than five minutes, just to explain what’s going on--or one text. Then we’ve got the phone until school starts. Does that sound fair?”

Kurt very nearly pounced on her in a hug, and she laughed and hugged back. “Thank you,” he said breathlessly, nearly vibrating with anticipation. “Yes. Yes, that is fair. Oh my God, Carole.” He pulled back. “My dad was actually okay with this?”

She took her hand off the screen. “It took some convincing. But we both know you’re a good kid. You wouldn’t have gotten so upset if you didn’t have a reason.”

A reason. Right. There was a reason that this was as terrifying as it was wonderful.

“Thank you,” he said again, then lifted up his phone. Blaine’s name stared back at him. Taking another deep breath, Kurt opened his voicemail and pressed the phone to his ear.

“ _Hey_.” Kurt closed his eyes, missing his voice. “ _I got your message. I’ve gotten a lot of messages from a lot of people over the last twenty-four hours, actually_.” He didn’t sound angry. But he did sound tired, flat, a little subdued, and that made Kurt’s insides tighten up just the same. Blaine sighed in his ear. “ _Look, Kurt, we obviously have some things to talk about, and I’m not going to talk about them with your voicemail. I just got back to Ohio, it was kind of emotional with everyone leaving Six Flags, and it was a long trip, I still have to get prepped for school next week…honestly, I can’t deal with one more thing right this second, so I think it might be best if we wait on talking about this until we can do it in person. Until then…maybe we should just leave it. Focus on getting our own things figured out. For now._ ” He paused, and in the brief quiet Kurt was pretty sure he could hear his own heart cracking. “ _I…I’ll call you._ ”

The message ended with a click.

Numbly, Kurt lowered his phone.

“Is everything okay?” Carole asked, and Kurt had no idea what to say.

It wasn’t a break-up message. It wasn’t. Blaine would be clear about it if it was a break-up message. However, it sounded frighteningly like an ‘I’m- _going_ -to-break-up-with you-but-I’m-too-nice-to-do-it-over-your-voicemail’ message. Or an ‘I’m-heartbroken-and-too-tired-to-fully-express-it-to-you’ message. Or an ‘I-hate-you-now-but-am-my-polite-Blaine-self-and-so-will-just-imply-it-by-not-saying-I-miss-you-or-I-love-you-because-I- _don’t_ ’ message.

Or all three.

“Kurt?”

He’d gotten ‘a lot of messages from a lot of people.’ Who would have called him? Who was angry enough to do that? Who would he believe?

And ‘just leave it?’ What on earth did that mean?

The cruel, ugly side of his mind silently offered, _It means he doesn’t want to deal with you anymore._

It had been building up and building up from the moment Finn had looked at that article in Rachel’s basement, growing as his friends turned on him, as Puck whispered heartbreak over his child, as that article wrapped him in a too-familiar lie, as Blaine’s silence stretched longer, as his father looked at him with that disappointment and didn’t understand.

The moment Carole placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, Kurt brought a hand to his mouth and sobbed.

Her arms were around him immediately, her voice murmuring soft words, and he allowed himself a moment to press his face into her shoulder and cry. Ten seconds passed. Then he quickly, forcibly pulled himself together, sniffing hard.

“Sorry,” he said, pulling away and wiping hastily at his cheeks. “Sorry. I’m overreacting. I’m aware of it.” He sniffed again. “It’s…it’s just today.”

“It’s okay,” Carole assured him, still holding onto his arms and stroking one of them with her thumb. “Sweetheart, you never have to apologize for hurting. Even if it’s over something small.” She caught his eye. “Okay?”

Kurt nodded, taking a deep breath. He looked back at his phone, picked it up again, and flicked his eyes back up to Carole. “I’m just going to…”

She nodded, and he opened up a new text. It would not be to Blaine, he couldn’t even do anything with that right now, and once he’d decided that, he found there really wasn’t much of a decision process required. He put in the recipient, then quickly typed the message in.

>> _ **You:** Finn sold me out for drinking. Grounded from phone  & comp, house arrest until school, so no updates. Blaine called. I think he’s going to break up with me._

He stared at the text for too long, his thumb hovering over the Send button, before shaking his head a little and deleting the last sentence. He replaced it with _Inconclusive_ , and his chest slowly unclenched. He sent the text.

The reply was almost immediate.

>> _ **Puck:** wtf, dick move! sux dude. dont puke up a kidny or anythn, srsly take a nap or sumthn. ill hit u up l8r._

The corner of Kurt’s mouth twitched up. He read the text one more time, took a breath, and handed his phone back to Carole.

“What can I do, sweetie?” she asked gently, smoothing back his hair and absently touching his forehead, like she was checking for a fever. And he didn’t allow himself to think for too long about how someone else used to do the same thing whenever he was sick or sad, but with cooler hands and a clear voice, singing ‘My Favorite Things’ for ages, sometimes making up her own verses, until he smiled or slept. He didn’t let himself, because if one more thing threatened to knock him off balance today, he had a feeling he would crack. Again. For the third time.

So instead of thinking about it, he leaned into her when her hand smoothed across his back, and he shook his head. “Just don’t bring anything up with my dad,” he murmured. “I need to figure this out.”

“Okay,” she said. “I trust you. But whatever is going on, remember that you don’t have to do it all on your own. Your dad and I are always here for you. Nothing is too big or too small. Okay?”

Kurt nodded, closing his eyes and not thinking about how long he’d gone without the simple comfort of being held by someone soft and sweet-smelling and who loved him.

In a whisper, he said, “I’m sorry I can’t call you ‘Mom.’”

“What?”

“It’s not that I don’t…that…it, it’s not a reflection on you. At all.” And he was sure there was some graceful way to say it, but his tongue was so far beyond grace by now that it wasn’t worth it. He lowered his eyes. “I just can’t.”

“Oh, sweetie.” She hugged him close to her side. “Is this because of Finn starting to say ‘Dad?’”

“No. Yes. Not…” He let out his breath, annoyed with himself. “I don’t know.”

“Kurt, I don’t want you to feel _any_ pressure to say, or do, or be _anything_ that you’re the least bit uncomfortable with. Your dad has told me so much about how close you were to your mom, and she can’t be replaced by anyone. Not for anything in the world.” Kurt nodded, but kept his eyes down, and she gave him a squeeze. “What’s this really about, Kurt?”

Kurt took a slow breath, then shook his head. “I just…this summer, I’ve been thinking about families a lot. For a few reasons. And I just don’t want you to doubt that that’s what you are. To me.” He swallowed hard. “I need you to know that you and…and Finn, are both really important to me.”

And that was true, so true that it hurt, and he did not think about last night, about Finn’s fading smile.

There was a teary smile in Carole’s voice when she said, “Well, you’re really important to us, too.”

They sat there a while longer before Kurt finally pulled away, attempting a smile. “Will you tell Dad I won’t be down for dinner? I think I’m going to turn in early.”

“Sure, sweetheart. But I’ll be watching to make sure you get something in your stomach tomorrow.”

Kurt nodded, and Carole fondly cupped his cheek. “Sweet dreams.”

“Thanks.”

Once the door had shut, Kurt slumped down on his bed, staring at nothing. There were too many things happening in his head at once. Too many misunderstandings to juggle, too many uncertainties, too many broken hearts. He had to fix this, and he had no idea where to start.

His mind was still spinning as his eyelids drooped, his body giving up on him at last. He would figure this out. He would fix it. He had to.

His eyes slid shut, and he slept for a very long time.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Puck comes to Kurt for help, and Kurt figures it can’t hurt to do a friend a favor.  Unfortunately, everything is more complicated when there’s a baby involved.

"So can I score a ride back to the hellhole on Monday?"

Kurt glanced over his shoulder, his eyebrows lifting.  "Risky move," he commented, holding out his hand.  "Monkey wrench."

Puck grabbed the tool from the tray and handed it to him, then leaned back with a shrug.  "Like it's not gonna be a shitfest either way.  I don’t have to get up before seven if I'm not gonna walk, and you've got a sweet ride.  Win-win."

"True on all counts, I suppose," Kurt murmured, ducking his head back under the hood.  "You’re on my way to McKinley, so if you dare."

"Is that even a question?  Doesn't matter what it is, the Puckmeister is up for it.  All the time."

"How wonderful for you," Kurt drawled, rolling his eyes, and handed the wrench back to Puck.  "Carburetor."

"Got it," Artie said, rolling up with the piece in his lap and handing it over.

Puck swatted Kurt in the back, looking affronted.  "How come _he_ gets to touch the carburetor?"

"Oh, I don't know, because he doesn't _slap the mechanic_."

"It's wheel-trust," Artie said, shrugging.  "Cars behave for me.  They think I'm one of them."

"Dude, that's _bullshit_."

"Hey.  Watch the language," Kurt's dad called from rather close.

Puck muttered a "Sorry, Mr. H," and Kurt straightened up again, wiping his hands.

His dad looked from him, to Puck, slouched against the worktable, then to Artie with an oily cloth over his lap to catch the grease, then back to Kurt.  "You keep bringing guys in here to work for free, they're gonna start expecting a paycheck."

"Don't worry, Mr. Hummel," Artie said.  "I’m just here for moral support.  And to exercise my right to manly bonding as the glee club’s only eligible bachelor.”

Kurt pressed his lips together and turned silently back to the engine.

“And I’m here ‘cause I, uh.  Felt bad.  That Hum--Kurt accidentally got wasted the other night.  From the…spiked punch.  That we don’t know who spiked.”  Puck cleared his throat, and Kurt rolled his eyes.  “Least I can do is help a guy out.”

Kurt bit back a faint grin, his face hidden under the hood, and shook his head.

The real reason Puck was here, of course, was because he’d somehow figured out that with nothing else to do, Kurt would bury himself in work at the shop, and so had shown up uninvited on Friday to bum around and bother him and generally be the loophole in Kurt’s grounding sentence.  (When he’d realized that was what he was doing, it had taken everything in Kurt’s power to keep from hugging him outright.)  Artie was a surprise today, but not an unwelcome one, his calm energy balancing Puck’s and keeping Kurt centered.  As he could be, anyway.

His dad made a skeptical noise, and then a warm, heavy hand landed on Kurt’s shoulder.  Kurt glanced up, waiting patiently while his dad leaned in to look over his handiwork.  

The ‘fight’ they had been in over Kurt’s punishment had lasted all of sixty minutes; after that voicemail from Blaine, Kurt had slept nearly twelve hours, then had to be practically muscled out of bed to get something in his stomach.  He had been feeling quiet and non-confrontational ever since, a little numb, and his dad’s worry was obvious.  It came across in touches like this--little shows of affection that were just a little more frequent than usual.

His dad patted him on the back.  “Looks good, kid.”

“Thanks.”

Straightening up again, his dad swept a calculating gaze over Puck and Artie again, then sighed.  “You boys want to hang around, that’s fine.  But no touching anything without Kurt’s OK, got it?”

“Got it,” Puck said at the same time Artie replied, “Understood.”

Once his dad was back across the shop, Puck turned back to Artie, twirling a wrench between his fingers.  “So who’s _not_ still pissed at us?” he asked.  “Gimme a head-count.”

Artie pursed his lips, looking guilty.  “Well, there are the people who don’t know you?”

Puck rolled his eyes, the wrench twirling faster in a clinking rhythm.  Kurt ducked his head back under the hood.

“But, I mean,” Artie quickly backpedaled, “it’s not that _everyone’s_ against you.  It’s just…half the glee club, plus whoever’s attached to them.  Like Brittany.  And Sam.”  Slowly, the brightness crept out of his voice.  “…And I think Mercedes got Tina.  Plus Mike.  And, um.  I don’t know about Lauren…”

Twirl, clink, twirl, clink, twirl, clink, speeding up with Kurt’s pulse.  “Pretty sure I’m still on notice.”  Puck’s voice grew sullen.  “Whatever.”

“Hey!  There we go,” Artie piped up.  “Significant others.”  Twirl clink twirl clink _twirl clink twirl clink_ \-- “ ‘On notice’ just means she’s not ready to admit she forgives you yet.  It’s a pride thing.  So you’ve got Lauren, and then Kurt’s got Blaine--”

Kurt’s hand shot out and clamped around the wrench mid-spin.  “ _Stop that_.”

Puck and Artie stared at him, their mouths clamping shut, and Kurt took a breath because that had come out a little louder than he’d meant it.  He plucked the wrench away from Puck and set it down, muttering something about eye sockets and lawsuits that he forgot as soon as it was out of his mouth.

“…Or…not-Blaine,” Artie said in a smaller voice, then frowned.  “Wait.  Why not-Blaine?”

“Big Man Dalton left our boy hangin’,” Puck said.

Kurt let out his breath.  “I told you.  The voicemail was inconclusive.  It just said we need to talk--”

“ _Ooh_ ,” both boys said with matching grimaces, and Kurt’s shoulders tightened.

“Not _that_ we-need-to-talk,” he said, tension thinning his voice.  “Blaine has this thing about social customs.  He doesn’t quite grasp how they work.”  His voice was a little too soft when he added, “He probably doesn’t even realize he said it like that.”

Artie and Puck were quiet, looking like they believed that about as much as he did, and he couldn’t quite handle that so he spun back around to finish with the car, pitching his voice light.  “What’s that?  You want to talk about _anything else_ within the realm of human thought?  I think that’s a marvelous idea.”

There was a shift of cloth, then a couple of firm pats on his back that had to come from Puck, and Artie waited a beat before obliging.  “So, uh…what classes are you guys taking?”

After an awkward few seconds during which Kurt focused very hard on  fitting the next piece into place because he wasn’t in the right headspace to answer much of anything, Puck stepped up to brag about taking Home & Auto Maintenance instead of math.  Artie mused over whether that was actually allowed, then enthused about how he and Mike were going to be the most epic AP Physics partners known to mankind.  Puck fake-gagged until Kurt’s dad cleared his throat from across the shop, at which point he stopped so abruptly that he coughed a little.

Kurt’s mouth twitched up, just a bit.

Five minutes later, he finally joined in, wrinkling his nose over Macroeconomics and wishing he could just fast-forward through it to AP French, wondering aloud how in the world Azimio Adams had made it onto that class list--and _why_.  Puck helpfully pointed out that Advanced Placement classes were for losers and freaks.

Ten minutes later, he was laughing helplessly into the oil filter with Artie while Puck did a flawless impression of Crazy Mr. Wikert from the math hall--insanely long drawl, squinty-glare and all--and his dad was watching curiously from the front desk, but he really didn’t care.

Artie left for dinner just before the end of Kurt’s shift, wishing them luck for the first day and promising he would have their backs.  He shot Kurt a reassuring smile, genuine and accepting, and Kurt was reminded of the early days of glee club, when it had been just the two of them sharing war stories of Port-A-Potties and dumpster-dives while the girls combed slushie out of their hair.

It made him wonder if the real reason none of the guys but Finn had really gotten close to him before this summer wasn’t because they had a problem with him, but because he just hadn’t let them.

When Artie had gone, Puck quieted down, and Kurt still didn’t have much to say.  But Puck stayed, shining a flashlight where Kurt needed him to and unsuccessfully hiding how his eyes lit up when Kurt offered to talk him through rotating a set of tires.

Once Puck had the hang of it, Kurt leaned back against the worktable and carefully, quietly approached the elephant in the room.

"What are we going to do about Wednesday?"

He almost regretted asking as soon as it was out of his mouth.  Puck's shoulders tensed, even as he continued dutifully tightening a lug nut on the wheel.  "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"She's not gonna be there," Puck said, finishing up and moving to the last tire.  "Shelby's sending her to stay with her sister for a few days while she gets some shit in order for the move, or the job, or...whatever.  Tuesday ‘til Thursday was the only time she could do it."

The deadness in his voice was unnerving, and Kurt tried, "Should I call her?  We can switch to a different day this week."

Puck shook his head.  "I told you.  She wants me to start pulling the fuck away.  You seriously think this is just shitty timing?"  He put the wrench down, and Kurt knelt next to him to take over with the last steps.  "She's doing it on purpose."

"We don't know that," Kurt said.

“ _I_ do.  _You_ don’t, because this kind of shit doesn’t happen to you.”

The bitterness wasn’t really for him, Kurt knew, and he sighed, standing again and glancing at the clock.  His shift was over.  "We'll figure it out."

"You said that before."

"I meant it then, too."  He extended a hand to help him up, and Puck looked at it, then surprised him a little by accepting it.  "As the flawless Julie Andrews would say, 'I have confidence in confidence alone.'  Tomorrow is coming, no matter who is or is not on our side."  He smiled, a little sadly.  "At least this time around, we don't have very far to fall."

Puck regarded him, some of himself coming back to his face, and he nodded.  "Trufax."  

Kurt wondered if it was good or worrisome that he actually anticipated the fist-bump this time.

“You working tomorrow?”

“Sadly, no.  We’re closed on Sundays, so I get to spend it alternating between the rousing activities of staring at my ceiling and hiding from Finn.”  At Puck’s lifted eyebrow, he elaborated, “He’s refusing to speak to me and shoulder-bumping me every time we cross paths.  If it’s allowed to go on, I’m going to bruise.”

Puck snorted.  “Figures.”

Sighing, Kurt admitted, “I don’t entirely blame him.”

“Dude, if you get emo on me again, I’m _out_.”

“You’re _out_ anyway.  My shift is over and I am going home.  As should you.”  He turned, then stopped, glancing back.  “You really want to ride together on Monday?”

“Hell yeah,” Puck said.  “Told you.  Win-win.”

“Win-win,” Kurt repeated under his breath.  He shook his head.  “Well.  I’ll have my phone back Monday morning, so I’ll text you when I’m leaving.  I feel obligated to remind you that the fashion rules I gave you for Shelby do not become null and void in the halls of McKinley, and while not following them isn’t a _guarantee_ that I’ll drive away without you, it wouldn’t behoove you to push your luck.”

Puck rolled his eyes.  “Dude, be more of a bitch.”

“Well, that _does_ seem to be how you like it.”  

Puck’s eyebrows shot up, and Kurt couldn’t suppress a smirk even as his face heated a little, because he just didn’t _say_ that sort of thing and he knew it.  “Yes.  That happened.  You’re a terrible influence on me.  You should go home now.”

“Dude, I’m an _awesome_ influence on you,” Puck finally said, sounding rather obnoxiously impressed, and Kurt stifled a laugh.

“I’ll see you Monday.  Make sure to bring a change of clothes,” he added as an afterthought, and Puck frowned at him.  Kurt frowned back, then shook his head and looked away.  

“Just trust me.”

-

Kurt decided that he hated being right.

More than that, he hated being right when they had _done_ everything right.  He had made sure to pick up Puck early so they could get to school early, since the majority of the jocks tended to trickle in just before the bell.  He had purposely parked at the side entrance, where the crowds of other students weren’t quite as thick.  He had walked at a casual distance from Puck as they headed down the hall toward their lockers, dodging lost freshmen and teachers who were already wearing their migraine-faces, and for just a moment, he’d thought that maybe he was wrong.  Maybe no one _did_ pay attention to Jacob or his blog anymore, and being seniors meant they were finally above the kind of harassment Kurt had come to expect.

That feeling had lasted approximately two minutes.

“Hear some congratulations are in order, fags!”

Kurt’s head snapped up, and on instinct he immediately squeezed his eyes shut, just in time to be slapped in the face with a _wall_ of ice that stole his breath and stopped him in his tracks.

And there it was.

He cracked his eyes open and lifted his chin, glaring down his nose at Strando, Azimio, and a few others whose names he didn’t care to remember, who cackled as they passed by, Azimio shoving him against a locker with one hand and knocking the wind out of him almost as an afterthought.

Slimy ice slid all the way down his spine and into his underwear, and he grimaced, trying hard not to squirm.

Four for four.  He had now been slushied on the first day of school every year from the first day he set foot at McKinley.  In his _senior year_.  He closed his eyes because this was not something to cry about, he wouldn’t cry, he wouldn’t--

It wasn’t until Puck started shouting that Kurt remembered he was there, too.

There, and covered in strawberry and blueberry slushie, just like Kurt was, in almost-clever shades of pink and blue.  “What the _hell!_ ” he barked, grabbing one of the nameless ones by the sleeve and slamming him up against the opposite locker, holding him there with a forearm across his collarbone.  “You think that’s _funny_ , asshole?!”

Kurt was across the hallway and grabbing Puck by the shoulder before he had entirely thought it through, hissing at him to stop and glancing warily at their audience.  His fight-or-flight instincts were alive and well in these halls: they were outnumbered, most of these guys were bigger even than Puck, and a teacher could round that corner any second.

That was, of course, overlooking the fact that they were on the chopping block for suspicions of _dating_ each other, and _everyone was watching_.

To his credit, Puck actually obeyed, seeming to try and look around for teachers even though he could barely open his eyes from the slushie dye that had clearly gone straight into them.  He let go of No-Name with an extra shove (Kurt pushed away the memory of Puck doing the same thing to him outside Shelby’s house not two weeks ago), and the guy slunk back to the safety of the letterman jackets.

“Damn, Puckerman,” Azimio said, chuckling.  “Fairy Princess has got you by the _balls_ , huh?”

“Yeah, guess we know who’s gonna be the _daddy_ ,” Strando cracked on his heels.

Puck lunged in their direction, clearly no longer thinking with his brain, and Kurt grabbed him again, audience be damned.  “No,” he said, keeping a hold on Puck’s sleeve.  “They aren’t worth it.”

There was a wave of whispers and a few giggles and an actual _cat call_ as he started to drag Puck toward the stairs, and Kurt immediately let go, shooting a glare in the direction of the cat-caller--was that _Santana?_ \--and stalking up the stairs two at a time, trusting Puck to follow.

Yes, he decided as he pushed open the door to the restroom at the end of the math hall, the most rarely used in the building, and caught sight of himself in the mirror.  He _hated_ being right.

What he hated more, though, was when he ended up dragging other people down with him.

He fastened his gaze to the sink as he wet some paper towels, wincing inwardly when Puck cursed under his breath, because he had known this would happen, and thinking about it made him want to curl in on himself and hide for the rest of the day.  If it had been anyone else.   _Anyone_ else.

_If it had been anyone but me._

Puck swore again, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he pressed his fingers to them, and Kurt resolved that if he couldn’t make everything right, he would at least try to help.  He automatically reached up with the paper towel, turning Puck’s chin towards him.  “Here.  Let me see--”

“Get off!” Puck barked, smacking his hand away with a vehemence Kurt hadn’t seen since Finn, and a basement, and a moist towelette.  

Kurt flinched back, hurt gripping his insides tight before he wiped the emotion from his face, deliberately turning his body away.  “Sorry,” he mumbled, only dimly noticing that he was pushing his voice out lower again.

Of course Puck wouldn’t want him to touch him.  He’d already been called a fag once today.  Once was all it would take.

Keeping his eyes down, Kurt grabbed more paper towels, wet half of them, and headed for a bathroom stall.  “I’m going to change.  Leave whenever you’re ready, it’s probably better if we don’t go back out there at the same time.  Sorry.”

He shut himself in the stall without waiting for a reply.  He didn’t get one.

He could still hear Puck pulling out paper towels and running water as he carefully hung his soaked cardigan and shirt on the hanger over his bag (he refused to let _anything_ of his touch that floor except the bottoms of his shoes), and after he’d stripped off his undershirt to wipe at his chest and shoulders, he closed his eyes a moment and accepted his fate.

“Tell them…whatever you need to tell them,” he said, each word feeling like a nail in his own coffin.  “Just…if you could please not make me out to be some sort of predator, or to have hit on you, or anything.  I can manage the herd if it’s slushies and locker-checks, but if they think I’m actually…looking, or wanting things from them, I don’t…I don’t know how far it will escalate.  Especially after last year.  And since I’m sure the others are in no mood to stand up on my behalf anymore, it’s, um.  It’s just me.  So--”

“You think I’m gonna throw you under the bus.”

There was disbelief in Puck’s voice, and Kurt faltered, wondering when his heart had started pounding so hard.  “If that’s what you need to do.”

Something like a fist thudded into the stall door, startling him.

“Get it through your head: you don’t bail on me, then I don’t bail on you.  That’s not how I roll.  Think you’d have figured it out by now.”  There was the clink of a belt being fastened.  “I’m not telling them shit.  If I do, I’m not gonna lie about it.  I’m not into dudes, and you were too busy sexting your boy all summer to look at me twice anyway.  Everyone’s seen Beth now.  So anyone asks, I’m telling that shit like it is.  Same goes if anyone asks you.”  There was some rustling of clothing, the zip of a backpack.  “Anyone messes with you, they’re messing with both of us.  Got that?”

Kurt let his forehead fall to the stall door with relief, shocked to find that his eyes were wet with it.  “Okay.”  He swallowed hard.  “They’ll notice if you’re talking to me more than usual, though.  It won’t do anything to quell the rumor.”

“Count how many fucks I don’t give.”  A pause.  “Do you?”

“No.  You just have more to lose, so.  Even if you’re telling people the truth, if you want to act…like we used to.  Or less.  I mean…I’d understand.”

And it was strange to say ‘like we used to,’ because that felt so long ago.

Silence, and then Puck muttered, “I’m just pissed.”  Quieter, “It’s not you.”

Kurt straightened, wiped at his eyes.  “I know,” he said, because now he did.  “I’m…pissed, too.”

“You skipping homeroom?”

He took a steadying breath and pulled a clean shirt over his head.  “I try not to skip classes, but that’s about how long it will take to properly treat this cardigan, so.”

“Want me to stick around?”  He sounded closer now, like he was leaning on the adjacent stall.

“It should be fine,” Kurt said, finally unlatching the stall after changing the rest of his clothes and going straight for the sinks to straighten out his hair.  Strangely, it was still a little hard to meet Puck’s gaze, so he didn’t.  “Barely anyone uses this restroom except the Advanced Calc students, and they’re generally harmless.  You can go ahead.  At least one of us should start this year out on the right foot.”  Puck hesitated, and Kurt finally lifted his eyes to meet his in the mirror.  “The more you show that you can get it together, the more Shelby might be willing to work with you about Beth.”

That seemed to sell it, and Puck looked at the floor, then gave a stiff nod.  Before leaving, though, he held up his phone.  “Anyone gives you any bullshit,” he said, and Kurt nodded.

“You, too.”

Puck vanished through the door, and once it had closed behind him, Kurt braced his hands on the sink and let out his breath, trying to shut out the buzz of students in the hall.

Inhale.  Exhale.  Inhale.  Exhale.

Okay.

Kurt straightened, rolled back his shoulders, and set about treating his poor cardigan, slipping into Post-Slushie Mode.  He knew how to do this.  A little out of practice, perhaps, but he knew how to sail through moments like these, to show the world they couldn’t touch him.  Granted, these moments were usually played out in the girls’ bathroom, if for no other reason than that it was safer (and cleaner) in there, but nevertheless.  He would be fine.

The door swung open, and Kurt looked up, then had to check himself not to jump back.

David Karofsky froze halfway through the door, staring at Kurt like he had suddenly sprung out of the floor.

 _Calm down_ , Kurt immediately told himself, forcing his shoulders to relax, just a little.  Things were different now.  This was the boy who had been carefully coexisting with him on Facebook all summer, who had actually commented with a _lmao_ last week when Kurt had posted a status about Granny Bartlett from down the street driving into the shop to complain about a rattling in the engine of her Depression-era Harley.  It was the boy who had taken nearly two months to respond when Kurt had sent him a private message apologizing for junior prom, and then telling him that the message thread would be there whenever he felt ready to talk--but who had responded nonetheless.  Baby steps.

Facebook was nothing at all  like face-to-face, though, and Kurt swallowed hard, not quite able to look away.

After a moment, David came forward enough for the door to close behind him.  Kurt came to himself and shook his head a little, dropping his gaze back to the sink and trying to keep his voice light.  “Hello, David.”

Karofsky looked him up and down, and Kurt maybe held his breath a little until Karofsky opened his mouth.

“How’d they get you al _ready_?”

Air flowed back into Kurt’s lungs, and he tried for a tight smile that ended up more like a grimace.  “What can I say.  They love me here.”

Karofsky was quiet a moment before saying, in a lower voice, “Which one was it?”

Kurt studied him a moment, took in the frown and the real concern behind it, the awkwardness, the determination--just like when he’d first donned that ridiculous Bully-Whips beret--and the smile Kurt had for him this time was faint but real.  “It was four or five of them together.  Don’t waste your time.”  Then, after a second, “Thank you, though.”

Karofsky shrugged, still frowning a little, this time at the floor.  Out in the hall, the first bell rang.

Focusing carefully on his cardigan, Kurt dared, “I couldn’t help but notice that you were suspiciously absent among the Cro-Magnon population this morning.”

Karofsky finally stepped away from the door, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed as if to pin his hands in place, his movements still tense.  He muttered something from which Kurt could only glean the words, ‘working shit out.’

Looking at him, at the nearly-openness of his face and the anxious energy in his fingers, Kurt believed him.

“It was a pleasant surprise,” Kurt assured him after a moment, still feeling like there were eggshells under his feet.  “If there had ever been an excuse for you to make a comeback...”

“Heard about that,” Karofsky said, his arms still tightly crossed.  He seemed to fight with himself for a second before speaking again.  "So what’s the actual damage with you and Puckerman?" he asked, glancing tentatively up.  "I kinda can't see you trying to pull one over on Prep-School."

Kurt stared at him for a second, then another, then another, and then dropped his arms to his sides.  " _Thank_ you," he huffed, the tension rushing out of him like air from a balloon.  Karofsky-- _David_ \--raised an eyebrow, and Kurt elaborated, "You are the first person, all of my so-called friends included, to just ask me instead of jumping to conclusions or assuming I'm right or wrong.  That's...I appreciate that.  Thank you."

David shrugged again, shifting on his feet, and Kurt wondered how often he was actually thanked for anything.  Then again, there wasn't much reason for them _not_ to be awkward around each other while standing alone in a school bathroom after last year, Facebook peacemaking or no, so Kurt lowered his eyes back to his cardigan to take the pressure off.  "In any case, it's a long story, so unless you have an exceedingly low interest in making it to homeroom..."

"It's Schwarz.  Think I'll live."

"Ooh."  Kurt grimaced on his behalf, thinking back to the most monotonous and terrible history class he'd ever had.  "Well, then.  Take a sink."

-

These are the things fourteen-year-old-Kurt had thought would never happen on the first day of his senior year:

He would never get a slushie to the face two minutes into his first day, because he would certainly not still be that low on the food chain.

He would never feel a swell of fondness as he watched Noah Puckerman walk out of a school restroom, because Puckerman would certainly not leave until Kurt's head was firmly shoved in a toilet.

He would never spend a half hour venting about his summer to a quiet, attentive David Karofsky, because they would certainly not have anything in common.

And he would never, _ever_ look ahead to glee club and feel utter dread, because glee club would certainly not stop being the one place where he belonged.

-

Kurt had to feel a little bad for Mr. Schuester.  He was positively beaming as the glee club trickled in for their first meeting of the new school year, probably expecting that everyone would still be holding hands and giving hugs and joking with each other like they were at the end of last year.

The only other member in the choir room when Kurt got there was Quinn at the far end of the room, who shot him a glare that could cut glass.  He elected not to make eye contact and positioned himself near the door, two rows back.

Rachel came in next, stabbing him with a glare of her own before dramatically whipping her head to face forward again, smacking Finn in the chest with her hair.  Finn did the same as he had been doing all week and pretended Kurt didn't exist.  They sat two rows behind Quinn.

Kurt arched his eyebrows in the aloof expression he had honed to a T from years of pretending bullies weren't hurting him, pulled out his phone, and pretended to text.

Santana and Brittany were next, ignoring him completely and sliding in next to Quinn.  Then came Tina and Mike--here Kurt subtly lifted his eyes, unsure where they stood in all this--who glanced uncertainly between the two sides before taking their seats right in the middle, Tina on Quinn’s half and Mike on Kurt’s, but not really close to anyone but each other.  Kurt lowered his eyes again and heaved a quiet sigh.

He told himself he wouldn't look up when Mercedes came in.  He honestly had no intention of putting himself through that, but old habits died hard, and he was glancing up before he could stop himself.  When she kept her eyes down and walked right past him, settling on the other side of Tina, that's when it really started to hurt.

At the doorway, Mr. Schuester finally started to look concerned.  When he caught his eye, Kurt gave a tiny shake of his head and lowered his eyes to the blank screen on his phone.

This sucked.

He idly typed in famous sets of numbers ( _8675309, 525600, 24601_ ) and was possibly wallowing in despair a little, and so he almost didn't notice when Puck came in.  Puck only paused for a second, just inside the door, to return the wall of glares he received from stage left.  Then he sauntered up to Kurt as if he had done it since the beginning.  "'Sup, Hummel."  He held out a fist.

Kurt smiled weakly and returned the fist-bump, trying not to cry again with the relief coursing through him when Puck dropped down right next to him while the other half of the room watched.  (Back at the doorway, Mr. Schuester stared outright, his mouth a little open.)  Slouching back in his chair, Puck  murmured, “You get any more bullshit?”

Kurt shook his head, lowering his voice with Puck’s in the choir room’s eerie quiet.  "Karof--David tailed me to first and second period.  Benevolently," he added when Puck tensed.  "Not that much happened.  Josh Waco came up with another slushie, but that ended up in his own face."  Puck snorted, and Kurt managed half a grin.  “David can move fast when he wants to ‘accidentally’ bump someone.”

Puck frowned, seeming unable to decide between suspicion and approval.  He shook his head.  “Seriously don’t get that guy.”

Lowering his gaze, Kurt softly replied, “It’s complicated.”

They were interrupted by Mr. Schuester greeting Artie and Sam at the door, and the subject was dropped.

“Hey, guys,” Artie chirped as Sam wheeled him in, getting situated a row in front of them and doing some odd manly-secret-handshake with Puck, and Kurt didn’t think he’d ever been quite so happy to see Artie.  Once his job was done, Sam glanced at Mercedes with pursed lips, then mouthed ‘Sorry’ in Kurt’s direction before going to join her.

Last in was Lauren, who Puck watched longingly as she settled in behind Tina and Mike.  When Puck frowned at her, she shook her head and mouthed, ‘Notice.’  Puck crossed his arms and slouched back in his seat.

“All right, guys,” Mr. Schuester said, walking to the front of the room and clapping his hands.  “Welcome back!  It’s great to see you all again.”  His gaze flicked between the two opposing halves of the room, his smile wavering a little before he plastered it back on.  “I hope you all had a chance to relax this summer, because this year is our year.  _Nationals_ ,” he said with a wave of the hands, and Artie and Sam obliged him with a whoop.  “We came so close last year, and I’m positive we could have won the whole thing if--”

“If Finchel hadn’t had to get their exhibitionism kink on?” Santana drawled from the side.

“--If we’d had a little more _focus_ ,” Mr. Schuester corrected with a warning look in her direction.  “Our problem last year,” he went on, moving to the whiteboard and uncapping a marker, “was that we lost track of our identity.”  Once he had _IDENTITY_ scrawled big and messy on the whiteboard, he turned back around.  “We got caught up in what other people thought.  What they told us.  What _we_ thought _they_ wanted.  We lost _us_.  So,” he underlined the word on the whiteboard, “your first assignment of the year is all about _you_.  This year’s going to be about embracing both who we’ve been, and who we’re going to become.”

Across the room, the side of Finn’s mouth was turning up the way it always did when he and Mr. Schue spoke the same language, and Kurt looked a moment before lowering his gaze.  At this rate, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know what he was becoming.

“For your first assignment,” Mr. Schuester went on, “we’re going to start with who we’ve been.  I want you to choose a song that represents something significant that happened to you over the summer, something personal to you, and perform it as a solo.”

The buzz following his announcement was decidedly quieter than it would usually be, and Kurt suddenly had a feeling that at least six glares were boring into the side of his head.

“Now, I know this is a short week for you guys because of the start-of-year faculty meetings Thursday and Friday,” Mr. Schuester went on, “so we’ll have performances start next week.  Until then--”

A hand shot up.  “Mr. Schuester?  If I may?”

Mr. Schuester let out his breath, then held out a hand.  “Of course, Rachel.”

She was out of her seat and facing the group before he’d finished speaking.  “As the de facto leader of this glee club, I feel it is only appropriate that I give the first performance to allow others the opportunity to observe and follow my example."  Everyone but Finn and Mr. Schuester rolled their eyes or sighed, as always, but something about her voice was subdued today, pitched in a lower tone.  "As it happens, I spent the last ninety-six hours brainstorming, preparing and polishing a piece that flawlessly matches the criteria of this assignment.”  She handed the sheet of music in her hand to Brad at the piano.  “Considering the final days of my last summer as a high school student,  it’s only right that I perform Stevie Hoang’s beloved single about resilience in the face of _abandonment and betrayal_ , two sensations I have come to know all too well in my young life.”

“Oh, no,” Kurt mumbled under his breath.

Puck elbowed him.  “Man up.”

Brad began to play alone, the only instrument Rachel apparently felt was necessary, and she began to [sing](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bcuYvkwZmis).

Kurt bit back a wince at the lyrics, then frowned when Rachel left all the pronouns as they were--she didn’t change ‘she’ to ‘he,’ and for a moment Kurt’s chest clenched with hurt that she would stoop so low against him.  But then he looked at her face, and listened to the lyrics some more-- _So many things that I’m just dying to say, But I can’t seem to tell her_ \--and realized that she wasn’t singing this song about him.

Somehow, that made it all much, much worse.

-

“We’re horrible people.”

“It was just a song.”

“With no souls.”

“Dude.  Seriously--”

“Who steal people’s mothers.  I’m a cold-blooded mother-stealer with no soul.”

“Will you quit freaking out?”  Puck glanced around the parking lot as they began to cross it to Kurt’s car, though there wasn’t much to see, as sports wouldn’t be starting until next week.  The only ones left at school were the other members of glee.  Across the parking lot, Finn held Rachel in a loose embrace next to her car.  “So Berry sang a song about her inner turmoil or whatever.  What else is new?”

“It baffles me that you aren’t fazed by any of this,” Kurt said, fishing for his keys in his bag.  “These are your friends, too.”

Puck shoved his hands in his pockets, his face closing up a little.  “So?”

“So, you spent half of that song staring conspicuously at your phone.  I can respect emotional compartmentalization to a point, but--”

“Heads up.”

“What?”

Something bumped hard into Kurt’s shoulder, knocking him straight into an unconcerned Puck, who grabbed him by the arm before he could fall over.  Kurt took one look, then straightened with a huff.  “ _Really_ , Finn?”

Not surprisingly, Finn continued to his own car without deigning to reply.

Kurt let out his breath, pressing his fingers between his eyebrows where a headache was starting to pulse.  He shook his head.  “Where were we?”

“You were spouting psychobabble or some shit.  I kinda tuned out.”

“Of course you did,” Kurt said with a sigh.

Kurt unlocked his car and inspected it while Puck tossed his backpack in the back, half expecting to have gotten keyed or worse.  “At least the windshield is intact,” he muttered under his breath, and he already had a foot in the car before he noticed that Puck wasn’t getting in, instead looking guardedly over Kurt’s shoulder.

Before he could follow Puck’s gaze, a voice said from behind him, “Hi, Kurt.”  Then, hesitantly, “Hi, Puck.”

Turning around, Kurt was faced with a slightly sheepish-looking Tina and Mike.  

Immediately his guard went up, too, and he looked between them, then around the parking lot behind them.  It looked like they were the last ones there.  Looking back at them, he said, “I wasn’t aware you were speaking to us.”

“I know,” Tina said, looking down.  “After you guys left the party, Santana sort of rallied the troops.”

“It was pretty scary,” Mike added, shifting on his feet.  “Especially when she started crying hysterically…I’m pretty sure she was still drunk.”

“She pretty much made everyone choose between you two and the rest of them,” Tina said, a little guiltily.  “You guys weren’t there, and we didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings…”

Kurt sighed, because of course they didn’t.  “I see.  And what, other than the convenient absence of the rest of the glee club in this parking lot, inspired this sudden change of heart?”

It was a little harsh, he knew, and they looked crestfallen for a moment, and that just made Kurt feel like scum all over again.

“It isn’t a change,” Tina said softly.  “Just…we just want you guys to know that we actually think it’s really sweet, what you’re doing.  Even if the way you went about it was kind of, um.  Terrible.”

Kurt blinked a few times.  Sweet.  She had said ‘sweet,’ right?

“We understand if you’re mad at us,” Mike said, slipping his hand into Tina’s and looking over Kurt’s shoulder at Puck.  “But we think--well, I think, Tina is an independent thinker and we’re not actually the same person,” --Tina smiled goofily at the ground-- “I think it’s really cool that you’re getting to be a part of your baby’s life.”

“We were looking at those pictures in the article,” Tina said, meeting Kurt’s gaze again.  “None of those were Photoshopped, were they?”  Kurt shook his head, and she smiled shyly.  “Beth looked really cute.”

“She’s perfect.”

Kurt actually jumped a little; he’d almost forgotten Puck was still at the passenger-side door.  Puck didn’t say anything else and didn’t move, still keeping the car between them and himself, but the shield behind his eyes was starting to go down.

When Kurt looked back, both Mike and Tina were smiling a little in Puck’s direction.  “So,” Tina said, “that’s all.  We just wanted you to know.”

It was an olive branch.  And it was sincere, and about a hundred miles beyond what Kurt had expected anyone to give him today, and for a second he honestly couldn’t make words come.

“Thank you,” he finally said, not quite able to smile back, but meaning it with everything he had.

It seemed to come through, because both of them seemed to relax.  They exchanged a look with each other, then turned toward Tina’s car with a quick wave and a nod.

Puck’s voice caught him off guard again.  “I’ve got more.”

They stopped, looking curiously back toward Puck.  Kurt followed their gaze.

Puck looked between them again, then pulled out his phone, dropping his eyes to the screen.  “Jewfro’s a shitty photographer,” he mumbled.  “You can’t see her that well.”

He began to click through, and suddenly Kurt knew exactly what Puck had been doing on his phone for the second half of glee club.

Tina and Mike looked at each other, then, for some reason, glanced questioningly at Kurt.  And for just a second, Kurt hesitated, because...well.  For nearly three months now, _he_ had been the only one in on the secret, the only outsider to know that Beth’s nose crinkled like Quinn’s when she laughed, or that Tenacious D’s ‘Tribute’ was her favorite, favorite song.   _He_ was the one behind the camera, who got to see all these moments.  He was Uncle Kurt.

But then that second passed, and Tina and Mike were eagerly eying Puck’s phone, and Puck was slowly coming around the car, and a smile finally found its way across Kurt’s face.  He nodded.

And he couldn’t even make himself say anything when Puck leaned against his car, normally a forbidden act, because the split-second glance Puck shot him--a question and an answer and an ‘I-told-you-so’ all in one--was so much more important than that.

Kurt stayed where he was, letting Mike and Tina come up on either side of Puck to peer at the screen, because now it was their turn.

He knew the second the first photo came up, because Mike’s face opened up and Tina’s broke into a smile, and Puck’s relaxed just around his eyes, the way it did whenever he looked at Beth.  “Aww!” Tina cooed.  “Is she dancing?”

Puck’s face shifted as he fought a smile.  “She’s all about the Tenacious D.  She’s got rhythm, too, like, _serious_ rhythm.  No way can other one-year-olds feel music like that.  On this one, I think it was ‘Wonder Boy,’ and she did that bobbing thing for most of it, but whenever I went into eighth-notes on the guitar, she did this stomping thing that totes lined up with it.  She’s like a prodigy or something.”  He lost his fight against smiling about halfway through, and he beamed down at the phone.  “Her favorite’s ‘Tribute,’ though.”

“That’s so cute,” Tina said, leaning in for a closer look.

“Wait, how do you sing ‘Tribute’ with one person?” Mike asked absently, his focus clearly captured by the phone screen.

“You don’t,” Puck said, his smile turning into a smirk, and he reached behind Tina to punch Kurt in the arm.

Tina seemed to surprise herself with a laugh, and covered her mouth.  “Oh my God.  I would pay money to see that...wait.”  She tore her gaze from the phone screen to look at him.  “Kurt, what are you doing over there?”

“Yeah, for serious,” Puck said, shooting him a look.  “Get over here.”

Tina’s arm was around his waist and tugging him over before he could say anything, and he automatically wrapped his around her shoulders, and just like that, it turned into a warm, tight one-armed hug that Kurt had needed _so badly_ that his chest actually ached.  She reached her other arm around him and squeezed, seeming to understand, and he rested his cheek on top of her head, blinking his eyes dry for what felt like the millionth time, and Puck clicked to the next photo.  This one was a close-up that Kurt had taken while he was standing up, and Beth had been standing at his feet, proudly showing off her stuffed Tigger with a huge smile.

“That thing’s like her favorite toy ever,” Puck said, relaxing back against the car door.  “Makes sense.  When I was a kid, Tigger was the shit.”

“I was more a Piglet fan,” Kurt commented, smiling when Tina squeezed him again and murmured, “Totally.  Him and Eeyore.”

Puck rolled his eyes, and Mike looked genuinely distraught.  “But Tigger’s bouncy...”

“You can have Tigger, sweetie,” Tina assured him, and Puck snorted and moved to the next photo.

Kurt lost track of time as they stopped on each picture, Puck growing more and more open and animated as he related exactly what was going on in each one, Kurt contributing when he could.  They laughed at the photo Kurt had snapped of Beth with her faux-hawk and Puck’s sunglasses and video game guitar, and Kurt had blinked with surprise at the one he hadn’t realized anyone had taken, of himself holding Beth on his lap and pointing to a picture in a book.  He’d been teaching her French that day.

Mike started cooing over Beth almost as much as Tina, and Tina didn’t let go of Kurt once, snuggling close and letting him do the same.  Before he knew it, nearly forty-five minutes had passed them just standing by his car in the empty lot, huddled around Puck’s phone, and Puck was clicking to the last photo he’d transferred back to his phone.  In it, he was sitting on the couch with his guitar, and Beth stood behind it on his lap, reaching curiously for the strings.

Looking up from the photo, Kurt found that Puck was wearing the exact same expression he had in that picture, warm and absolutely in love.  He thought back to how Puck had been since last Wednesday, closed off behind a defensive wall, and he almost couldn’t bear it.

“She looks like you,” Tina finally said, and Puck murmured, “Yeah,” and Kurt made a decision.

Maybe he didn’t have all of his friends, and maybe he didn’t have Blaine--the _0 Missed Calls_ screen on his phone that morning felt more telling every time he thought of it--but Puck would have Beth.  Somehow, he would have Beth.

Kurt would find a way.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Puck comes to Kurt for help, and Kurt figures it can’t hurt to do a friend a favor. Unfortunately, everything is more complicated when there’s a baby involved.

On Tuesday, Kurt opened his locker and was pummeled by an avalanche of Huggies.

He stood there a moment with his mouth open while a wave of laughter swelled and ebbed in the hallway, and then he plucked a stray (and, thankfully, clean) diaper off his head and immediately texted a warning to Puck.

 _too late_ , was Puck’s reply.

It didn’t get much better from there.

-

By second period, Kurt had thanked Artie once and Dave twice for intimidating, distracting, or otherwise thwarting the plans of four different slushie-carrying jocks.

By fourth, he was back in the restroom, pulling out paper towels and silently handing them to a soaked Puck while he dripped and cursed and possibly hurt himself punching the counter (he was already swearing, so it was hard to tell).

By lunchtime, they were both exhausted.

“Fuck this school,” Puck muttered after five silent minutes of poking at his mashed potatoes. Kurt hummed his agreement. “Seriously. Why’d you even come back?”

“Because I was no longer worried about David showing up in my English class with a .45 and ending my life to the musical stylings of _Carmina Burana_ ,” Kurt murmured absently.

Puck stared at him, and Kurt shook his head. “I have an overactive imagination. Mostly, I just missed everyone. I liked Dalton, but the only time I felt like I belonged there was when I was with Blaine.”

“He call you yet?”

Kurt shook his head.

Puck had the decency to look offended on his behalf. “Seriously? What the fuck?”

Kurt wilted a little, focusing very hard on his salad because he was not thinking about that. “Let’s please not go there.”

Puck frowned at the table--he hadn’t really stopped frowning all day--then leaned back and sighed. “Fuck this,” he muttered again, and Kurt knew just from looking at him that he wasn’t talking about school. Tomorrow was Wednesday. Beth’s day.

Before he could begin to wrack his tired brain for something reassuring to say, a tray hit the table to his right. He turned, and his mouth snapped shut at the sight of Dave hesitating behind the seat next to him. Dave shot a wary eye at Puck, then at Kurt. “This too weird?”

Kurt gaped for a second before shaking his head. “No. No. I mean. If you’re not concerned about--” David sat down, looking wholly unconcerned. “--okay, then.”

“You guys kinda looked really pathetic over here,” he said, keeping his eyes carefully on his tater tots. “And Strando was squawking about how he was gonna dump baby food in your shit when you weren’t looking, so.”

“Wonderful,” Kurt sighed. “Well, I appreciate it--I’m sure we both do,” he added after a second, glancing in Puck’s direction. “Just…no obligation. Don’t feel like you have to--”

“Forget it.” Dave lifted his eyes from his tray for the first time and nodded to Puck. “‘Sup, Puckerman.”

Puck eyed him a moment before jutting his head in a return greeting, then dropping his eyes back to his phone.

They fell silent, Puck on his left and Dave on his right, and strike him dead if _this_ wasn’t the most surreal lunchroom experience he’d had since high school began.

But ‘surreal’ quickly gave way to ‘awkward,’ and Dave was braving so much by putting himself in this position that Kurt couldn’t let that happen. “So,” he said, daring a small smile. “Dave Karofsky, Super-Spy. I never would have guessed.”

Dave met his eyes for the first time that day, then snorted quietly and looked away with the tiniest hint of a grin.

“Yeah,” Puck said, still a little distracted by his phone but already seeming to relax a little after scrolling through the photos of Beth for a minute. “Pretty ballsy, dude. But you’re probs gonna get called gay in the next two minutes, in case you wanna save yourself a freak-out-- _ow_!”

Kurt prided himself on being a very precise kicker.

For his part, Dave’s shoulders tensed a little, but he didn’t move. “Let ‘em think what they want,” he said quietly, and Kurt could see the effort it took to say it and goodness, it was probably premature and ridiculous to feel this proud. “You get to work your shit out, the rest of us assholes should get a chance, too.”

Puck paused his glaring at Kurt and rubbing his shin to look warily at Dave, then back to Kurt. “He know?”

“He asked.”

Puck's eyebrows went up a little, but his reply was interrupted by a drawn-out, "Uhh, dude?"

Kurt looked up to see a bewildered Strando hovering near their table, some suspicious jar-shaped lumps bulking up his pockets. He frowned at Dave, almost smiling, like he was waiting to be let in on the joke. "...What the hell are you doing?"

“Eating lunch, dipshit.” Dave popped a tater tot into his mouth, the picture of calm, even though under the table Kurt could just see his fingers clenching his leg so tight that a vein was bulging. “Sick of spending it with your whiny ass.”

“What, so you’re gonna sit with the _fa_ \--”

“The _what_ now?” Puck interrupted, leaning forward on one elbow with that dangerous glimmer in his eye that was only reserved for Serious Business, and Strando shut his mouth.

And Kurt felt safe.

Just like that. Safe, and protected, and like a person, flanked by two boys whose strength used to hurt him, but who were using that strength-- _risking_ that strength--to fight on his side.

He just managed to push down the spreading warmth in his chest in time to meet Strando’s bewildered gaze. Kurt rested his chin on one hand and lifted his eyebrows in a silent, _Anything else?_ and Strando frowned, then shot Dave a last look before muttering something decidedly impolite and turning away--just in time for Artie to roll straight over his foot. He let out a yelp. "Fucking watch it, four-eyes!"

"Whoops," Artie said, looking innocently up at him, and Kurt covered a laugh with a bite of salad. "Sorry. It gets sort of hard to dodge people in crowded places. You know. The chair." He gestured sadly at his wheelchair, and Strando looked hilariously conflicted for a moment before stalking off.

"I hate breaking their hearts like that," Artie sighed as he rolled up and set down his tray next to Puck. "Hey, guys." His eyes swept over Kurt and Puck, blinked at Dave, and then flicked back to Kurt.

Kurt just smiled a little and shook his head because this day was getting _ridiculous_ and he didn't even know anymore.

But Artie seemed to accept that and sent a muted grin in Dave's direction without missing a beat, and Kurt really needed to bake Artie some cookies or something because he was generally kind of great.

"So what's the word?" Kurt asked, and Artie shrugged.

“Oh, you know. Rachel’s trying to pick everyone’s summer-songs for them, the Unholy Trinity has broken off into what looks like it might be a separate faction, and Finn is sort of glaring and grunting at everyone…” Kurt shrank and Puck tensed, and Artie glanced between them, then cleared his throat. “…and, uh, I…think I wrote down the wrong page number for the homework in AP Calc,” he continued, casually giving Kurt and Puck a moment and swiveling towards Dave. “Was it page thirty-eight?”

“Thirty-three,” Dave said after a calculating glance in their direction. “Just the odds, though. Ms. Langley’s got that thing about even numbers.”

“I’ve always wondered if anyone else noticed that…” Artie’s phone buzzed, and he looked at it, then glanced across the cafeteria toward where Tina and Mike had just gotten their trays, then pecked out a message back. “Is that why you always asked about the even-numbered questions when we went over tests last year? Because you raised your hand for needing explanations for like eight different problems on the last chapter test, but I saw your paper and you had a ninety-seven.”

Kurt’s eyebrows shot all the way up his forehead, but Dave just shrugged. “Worth it to watch her eye start twitching.”

“Whoa, whoa, hold up,” Puck said, finally dragging his gaze completely away from his phone to narrow his eyes at Dave. “No way in hell are you in AP Calc with Professor X here.”

“Just ‘cause you’ve skipped every math class since ‘08 doesn’t mean we all did,” Dave said in a tone just this side of smug, smirking a bit as he took a bite of his burger. With only minimal chewing, he added, “I’m smart shit, dude.”

“It’s true.” The table glanced up at the new voice, and Mike settled down in the seat right next to Dave, Tina joining him by Artie and completing the circle. “I didn’t mention it last year, because, um. Awkward,” Mike admitted, glancing timidly at Kurt and back. “But it was pretty impressive. And her eye really does twitch.”

Kurt tuned out a little when Mike brought up some insane math problem from the class they must have all just come from, but blinked when a foot nudged his leg under the table. Looking around the circle, he briefly became concerned about just _who_ of this group would be playing footsie with him until his gaze landed on Tina, who sent him a small smile that said _Hi_ and _Are you doing okay?_ and _Are you seeing this lunch table right now, because wow,_ at the same time.

Kurt smiled back and bumped her foot with his own in what he hoped was a _Hi yourself_ and an _I’ll be fine_ , punctuating it with a quirk of the eyebrow in a clear _I know, right?_

Tina stifled a laugh and dropped her eyes to her chicken sandwich, and Kurt absently worked on his apple slices, thinking about how that was the kind of wordless conversation that he and Mercedes always had. And should be having right now, not sitting on opposite sides of the cafeteria because high school was a stupid, stupid place where everyone had to go and pick sides. (Rarely his.)

He looked across the lunchroom to where the rest of the glee club was sitting together. It wasn’t much consolation that the atmosphere looked pretty strained: without any of the other guys there, Finn and Sam were sticking close to Rachel and Mercedes and talking about something that seemed to have both girls bored out of their minds, while Quinn, Santana and Brittany had grouped up off to the side very much like Artie had reported. He wasn’t entirely surprised that Lauren was nowhere to be found.

Kurt sighed, and as if she had sensed it, Mercedes lifted her gaze for just a second, and it landed right on his. She held it for a second--Kurt had a feeling his face had gone stupidly hopeful--and then she turned away with a tight smile for Sam when he slung an arm around her.

Kurt’s shoulders slumped a little, and he poked at what little remained of his salad, letting the conversations around the table go on without him. His pity-party only lasted a few seconds, though, before Puck was elbowing him and muttering, “Look more pathetic.”

The glare Kurt sent him was nowhere near full power, and Puck glared right back before Artie roped him back into an animated conversation with the others about some video game.

Puck did have a point, though. Kurt had done a whole lot of ‘looking pathetic’ over the last week, and, now that he thought about it, not a lot of anything else. They were going to stay in this insane stalemate forever if someone didn’t step up. Maybe that someone would have to be him.

Taking a deep breath, he pulled out his phone and typed out the truest thing he could think to say. He pressed ‘Send.’

_**You:** I’m sorry. I miss you._

He waited a few seconds with one eye on the other table, but as soon as Mercedes pulled out her phone, he chickened out a little and looked away, trying to focus on his own table’s conversation. “What are we talking about?”

“How Demoman beats Heavy _every time_ ,” Puck said, jabbing his fork in Dave’s direction.

Dave rolled his eyes. “You’re dreaming. Heavy’s got Sasha, dude. Un-fucking-touchable.”

“Only if he’s got Medic,” Tina corrected, and Kurt blinked at her. She shrugged, gesturing toward Mike by way of explanation. “I think Kurt would make a good Spy.”

Puck snorted. “Fuck that, Kurt _is_ Spy.”

“I’m what, now?”

“A Spy,” Mike piped up. “You put on masks and steal people’s identities.”

“You’re very suave,” Artie assured him.

Kurt was officially lost. “Uh...huh.”

He was saved from having to continue trying to decipher whatever code they were speaking in when his phone buzzed on the table. He bit his lip, then looked at the screen.

_**Mercedes:** Im still mad at you._

Kurt nearly groaned aloud, but bit it back. He turned off the screen and pushed a few crouton crumbs around his plate while Artie spoke animatedly about sentries. Whatever those were supposed to be.

Then the phone buzzed again.

_**Mercedes:** I miss you too._

He immediately glanced toward the other table, but Mercedes seemed to have had the same idea he had, and was doing anything except meeting his eyes. But it was _something_ , however small, and already the weight in Kurt’s chest began to lighten, just a little.

_**You:** Can we talk?_

This time, the reply hardly took thirty seconds.

_**Mercedes:** Soon ok? I got some words for you and they do not belong in this cafeteria._

And it wasn’t completely the open-armed forgiveness that Kurt had to admit he’d secretly been hoping for, but she tentatively met his eyes across the lunchroom again, and he held her gaze a moment before nodding his agreement. She seemed to let out her breath, then nodded a little herself before turning back to Rachel.

“--Dude.” There was a jarring _pop_ of someone flicking the air right next to his ear, and he jumped, then shot Puck a glower that was wholly disregarded. “You in, or not?”

Kurt pushed Puck’s hand away. “Try that again and you are losing fingers. What was the question?”

“Tonight, eight p.m.,” Artie said. “We’re all gonna be online to play. You should join in. You really would make a great Spy.”

“I don’t know if that’s quite my--”

“Shut it, dude,” Puck said. “Think I forgot all that stuff about how you kick Finn’s ass at Halo just ‘cause I was shitfaced?” He paused, thought a moment, turned to Artie. “He could do Sniper, too.”

“It’ll be fun. We’ll show you how,” Tina assured him, and Mike nodded enthusiastically. For his part, Dave kept quiet, watching him curiously from the corner of his eye.

Kurt glanced at the other table, then back to his friends-- _his friends_ , even if they weren’t the same friends he’d thought he would have two weeks ago--and sighed. “Oh, what the hell.”

The rest of the table made a general sound of approval, and then the bell rang. As they crossed the lunchroom to drop off their trays, Dave worked his way back up next to Kurt. “You good to get to fifth period?”

Kurt couldn’t help but grin a little as he set his tray down on the counter. “One can only hope.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Suddenly Puck was on his other side, looking practically over Kurt’s head at Dave. “My class is by his. I’ve got him.”

“Yeah, ‘cause no one’s tossed a slushie at _you_ today,” Dave said with a lifted brow, and Puck bristled.

Kurt quickly held up his hands. “Look, it’s one hallway. I appreciate the concern, but I can not handle any manly pissing contests today. This conversation is over.” He turned his focus on Dave. “And I know for a fact that your next class is in the opposite direction. But thank you.” He glanced at their now-empty table, then back, and the swell of gratitude was real. “I mean...thank you.”

Dave only looked pleased with himself for a second before he shrugged, looking away. “Whatever. See you around.”

“Meet you at the doors,” Puck said once Dave had gone. “Grabbing a Dew for the road.” Kurt nodded and moved to let the others through.

Mike watched Puck go, then glanced in the direction Dave had gone, and then looked back to Kurt, something like wonder in his face.

“You know…you’re kind of like the bully-whisperer.”

Kurt actually _guffawed_.

-

That night, Kurt learned what MMO stood for. He learned that he did indeed make a very suave Spy. And he also learned that once he had the hang of it, shooting computer-people really _could_ be a decent stress reliever.

He almost mentioned this revelation to Finn when he got back from Rachel’s that night, but Finn ignored his name and went straight into his room, tightly shutting the door.

After mucking his way through the guilt for a moment, Kurt reminded himself that he was supposed to be stepping up now, and he pulled it together. He set his jaw and knocked on the wall he and Finn shared. “Finn, this is getting ridiculous. At least tell me which part you’re upset with me about?”

No words, just shuffling on the other side of the wall.

“Finn, we both know there are no locks on these doors. I don’t want to make things worse by invading your personal space, but if you don’t make any attempt to communicate here, I’m--”

Finn’s stereo started blasting [R.E.M](http://vimeo.com/18712452).

Kurt let out an exasperated breath, and he very nearly marched down the hall and barged into Finn’s room right then and there, but for just a moment he paid attention to the lyrics, and they stopped him in his tracks.

_I’ve been walking alone now, for a long, long time.  
I don’t want to hang out now, with the friends that just aren’t mine._

_I said I don’t want to be with you anymore.  
I just don’t want you anymore._

He could just hear Finn drumming along on his Rock Band drums, the way he practiced for glee club when it was too late at night for his trapset, and Kurt realized that this wasn’t just Finn trying to shut him up. This was going to be his song for glee club.

Kurt slowly sank back down on his bed, feeling a little like someone had torn a hole in him.

He took deep breaths for a few minutes, the B-section of the song repeating over and over next door and grating on his ears. He stayed there a bit after the song ended and the next track began, at which point the volume turned down. The new track abruptly stopped, and Finn’s song started over again, and Kurt couldn’t tell if the tightness in his chest was sadness or anger, but either way he couldn’t be here for this.

He snatched up his phone and went down the stairs, then out onto the back porch, without another word to Finn.

Once outside in the quiet, he paced slowly for a while, trying to clear his head. He thought of texting someone, but of the people who were currently speaking to him, he doubted anyone would have any useful advice.

He thought of Blaine.

Looking at his screen, at that horrible _0 Missed Calls_ sign, Kurt’s chest tightened even further, and this time, it was all anger.

He was dialing and jerking the phone up to his ear before consciously deciding to do so, and it didn’t help anything when the phone rang four times, then went to Blaine’s cheery, welcoming voicemail message.

“Okay, Blaine,” he said almost on top of the beep, “I think it’s time to stop punishing me now. I understand why you might be upset with me, but so are half of my friends, and I can’t _do_ passive-aggressive anymore. If we need to talk, then call me. If it _really_ has to be in person, then I’ll come to Westerville _tomorrow_. I’ll--God, I’ll come _right now_ , I’ll…whatever you want. Just give me _something_. I--” His voice cracked a little, and he swiped at his eyes, more annoyed with himself than anything else. “I need you. And I love you. And I’m sorry. Just…please, talk to me.”

After hanging up, he stayed outside for ten more minutes. When his phone didn’t ring, he went back to his room, putting Wicked on his iPod to shut out Finn’s stereo, and tried to put both Finn and Blaine out of his mind. Tomorrow was Wednesday, and it was not going to be about them. Wednesday was Beth’s day, and Puck was going to need him.

Yesterday, as he and Puck had stood with Tina and Mike and clicked through the photos of Beth, Kurt had made a decision. He had not changed his mind.

Tomorrow, he was going to have a talk with Shelby Corcoran.

-

Glee club on Wednesday was supposed to be a work day. Mr. Schuester took pity on them and shortened rehearsal to one hour instead of two, since they were going into a long weekend, and it was meant to be spent working in small groups or individually on planning, music selection, choreography, or anything else they felt needed work before they started performing for each other next week.

At least, that’s what should have happened.

What really happened was this: before Mr. Schuester had gotten much farther than, “Hey, guys,” Quinn raised her hand. “Mr. Schue?”

They were the first words Kurt had heard her speak since her last words to him in Rachel’s basement, the ones that had ended with a stinging slap, and Kurt automatically tensed.

Puck didn’t. Puck wasn’t doing much of anything today.

“Yes, Quinn?” Mr. Schuester said, looking a little thrown, as he usually did when his opening speeches were interrupted.

Quinn sat up straight, perfectly composed, her face worryingly neutral. “I know today was supposed to be a work day, but I’ve been working on something that I think I’d like to perform today.” Mr. Schuester looked hesitant, and she added, “I think it’s only fair, since Rachel got to jump ahead on Monday.”

Kurt glanced at Puck, but the glance wasn’t returned. Puck stayed slouched in his chair, his arms crossed, his face tight and sullen as it had been since Kurt had picked him up that morning.

“Sure, Quinn,” Mr. Schuester said, glancing between the two sides of the choir room. “There’s no pressure for you to start early, though, guys. If you want to give yourselves a little more time to prepare--”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary, Mr. Schue,” Quinn said, a sweet smile crossing her face that was absolutely terrifying. “I need to get this out.”

She angled a glance at the backup band, and they came to attention as though she had barked an order. The drummer opened with [three clicks](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bbMAP9wd2Io), and Quinn rose from her chair, followed by Brittany and Santana. They strode to the front of the room with a coordinated bounce in their step, the sugary smile never leaving Quinn’s face, the hard edge never leaving her eyes.

Kurt was already sinking a little in his chair halfway through the first verse.

Quinn didn’t even pretend not to zero in on where he and Puck were sitting, cutting a glare into Puck for the first verse and then shifting to Kurt for the second, making him swallow hard and fight to stay detached, to keep his face a careful mask, to keep from dropping his eyes.

By the last bars of the song, the three Cheerios at the front of the room were pretty much the only ones who weren’t averting their gazes or shifting uncomfortably in their chairs, Mr. Schuester included. The three of them glided back to their seats, and Mr. Schuester cleared his throat. “Um...thanks, Quinn, that was...” He shook his head and plastered on a smile. “That was great. You’re really stretching your vocal range, good job.” He cleared his throat. “Well. I guess since we’re already rolling, is there anyone else who’d like to--”

Puck’s hand lifted into the air.

“I got something.”

If Mr. Schuester’s eyebrows were to go any higher, they would have disappeared right into his hairline. “...Great, Puck. By all means.”

“What are you doing?” Kurt asked warily under his breath while Puck pulled out his guitar.

“Told you,” Puck muttered back, his voice still as dead as it had been all day. “My sister’s got all that Y2K-era shit.” He tuned a few notes. “It worked out.”

“Noah...”

“Don’t think anyone asked you,” Puck snapped back, and Kurt just sighed and let him go, because that had been going on all day, too.

He didn’t like it, though. After that performance, when he was in a mood like he was...

“So some stuff went down this summer,” Puck said once he was at the front. He aimed it only at stage right, Kurt and Artie and Tina and Mike’s half, his allies. “Some people had something to say about it.” He dropped the sheet music on the piano and the music stands, then abruptly turned to address the less friendly side of the room, looking fearlessly right at Quinn. “I’ve got some stuff to say back.”

He nodded to Brad at the piano, and Kurt held his breath.

The song [began](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qBSpYsaQ2oI#t=om08s).

And at first, Kurt didn’t quite get it.

He just barely recognized the song--it had to be at least a decade old--and the lyrics were a little vague, and a glance around told him that he wasn’t the only one feeling uncertain. But then Puck got to the chorus, and the first two lines alone, aimed straight into Quinn’s eyes, said everything.

_And it’s so sad--you’re so good and I’m so bad.  
But you won’t see me wasting the best thing I ever had._

And there was a fierce promise in his face when he sang it, a hint of the impossible love that Kurt had seen at the garage weeks ago, when Puck had been trying to explain how vital to his life Beth had become.

Just as Quinn had spent the entirety of her song shooting daggers at him, Puck kept his gaze fixed on her, even as the second verse cut enough to the quick that Kurt almost winced on her behalf.

The message was clear: _Hate me all you want, hate yourself all you want, but nothing you can do will make me let her go._

Something terrible was probably crossing Quinn’s face as the chorus repeated to the end, but Kurt couldn’t bring himself to look away. Puck was brave and hurting and just so in love, and that deserved to be seen.

Puck didn’t wait for reactions after he’d played the last note; he just sauntered back to his chair by Kurt, looking no more satisfied or less on edge than before, and Mr. Schuester slightly resembled a fish as he searched for a response.

“That was...great, Puck,” he said at last, glancing uncertainly at the other half of the room before focusing again, trying so very hard to keep that smile. “It looked like you were really connecting with the song on an emotional level. Great job.”

Puck just shrugged and dropped his gaze, looking very tired.

“Well...okay,” Mr. Schuester said, clapping his hands. “I think that’s a good number of performances for today. Quinn, Puck, great job. You’ve set a high bar.” He seemed ready to take a step back when he received two dark glares just for putting their names in the same sentence. “...Know what, it’s a long weekend for you guys--you should enjoy it. Rehearsal is over for today. Go home and, uh…relax.”

There was a chorus of relieved sighs, and Kurt nearly had to jog to keep pace with Puck as he blew out of the room with long strides, saying nothing and looking straight ahead. “Hey--Noah, slow down--”

“M’walking today,” Puck muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets without obeying. “Go home.”

Kurt reached for Puck’s arm to at least get his attention. “Look, I understand--”

“The _fuck_ you do,” Puck snapped, jerking his arm away hard enough that it threw Kurt a little off balance, his shoulders bumping loudly into the nearest locker.

Kurt worked hard not to grimace, because he _hated_ that sound.

At the very least, Puck stopped walking, even if he did continue glowering at the floor.

“Okay,” Kurt said slowly, gathering his breath. “You’re right. I don’t. But I know.” He pushed away from the lockers and straightened his shoulders. “Stop taking this out on me.”

Puck was silent.

“All I was going to say,” Kurt continued, “was that you’re obviously not in a good place today--right now in particular--and maybe today wouldn’t be the best day to go by yourself. Also, I think it’s going to rain--”

“Can’t jack any more ATMs without a car, Hummel,” Puck said, and it would have been funny if he hadn’t sounded so hollow. “Seriously. I was gonna get Jordie from soccer practice in an hour anyway. Elementary school isn’t that far. Think I’m just gonna get there early and watch, walk her home if it gets rained out.”

Kurt almost told him then. Almost promised him that he was going to Shelby’s house right this second, and that he would figure it all out for him--anything to stop him from looking so beaten down. But something told him that would be unwise, so he just nodded. “Okay. Just…don’t do anything rash.”

“I’m not gonna beat up the other team’s goalie if Jordie loses, _Mom_ ,” Puck said dryly, and Kurt rolled his eyes. In a lower voice, Puck added, “Seriously, quit getting all probie watchdog on me. I’ll deal.”

Kurt held up his hands in concession, and Puck turned to go, but paused. “Hear anything from your boy yet?”

Kurt blinked at the subject change, then shook his head. “I left him a message last night, but clearly that was ineffective.”

Puck frowned, looking more annoyed than Kurt had come to expect, then turned away again. “People are shitty.”

“Not all of them.”

Puck regarded him, then shrugged. “Whatever. See you around.”

“See you.”

Once Puck was around the corner, headed for the back exit, Kurt spun on his heel toward the parking lot and pulled out his phone.

She answered on the third ring.

“Hello, Shelby? I know you weren’t expecting company today, but I wonder if I could have an hour of your time.”

-

Thirty minutes later, he was back in Shelby’s living room, the house strangely quiet without Beth pattering around the halls or Puck strumming idly on his guitar. The patter of rain on the window felt very conspicuous as Shelby came out of the kitchen with two mugs of tea. Kurt smiled his thanks.

“I hope it isn’t too much of an inconvenience that I stopped by,” he said, wondering when he got nervous. “I just...want to make sure I understand the situation here. Noah gave me his version, but I would really like to hear yours.”

“That’s fair,” Shelby said, idly stirring her tea. “Honestly, I’m surprised I didn’t hear from you guys before now. Or at least from him. After last week...”

“Yes, well,” Kurt said, dropping his eyes to his mug. “Things have been a little...” He shook his head. “He’s pretty upset.”

“I’m sure,” she sighed, sitting back with a furrowed brow. “It wasn’t my intention to hurt him, at all. I know that’s probably hard to believe right now.”

“What _was_ your intention?” Kurt asked slowly. “I know it’s none of my business, but I just--”

“No, you’re entitled. You’re a part of this, too.” She looked conflicted a moment, glancing toward her camera on the coffee table. Then she picked it up, clicked through a few times, and stood to hook it up to the TV. “Here.”

She turned the TV on and set it to show the screen of her camera, and Kurt found that she had set it to the beginning of a video. “This is from last Tuesday,” she said. She pressed Play.

In the video, Beth stood in the middle of the living room in a little dress Shelby had made for her--Kurt remembered because he had cooed over it for ten minutes straight the first time he saw it--with her eyes fastened to the television screen. A startlingly familiar song began to play from it, and she squeaked and pointed to the screen, flashing an elated expression at the camera, her mouth an adorable ‘o.’

Behind the camera, Shelby’s voice laughed. “Is that your favorite commercial? I think it is.” Beth watched the screen and started her bobbing dance, and Kurt would have smiled if he weren’t struck by that tune--that wasn’t just a commercial. It was _the_ commercial.

_Come on down to Mattress-Land!_

Beth abruptly stopped her dancing, and Shelby’s voice prompted, “Come on, sweetie, can you dance for Mommy?”

Beth didn’t. Instead, she pointed at the screen and said in a high, marveling voice, “Daddy?”

The screen jumped, as though Shelby had nearly dropped the camera, and Kurt stared at the screen as the glee club’s tinny voices kept singing in the background, robbed of his breath.

“What?” Shelby’s voice said in the video, quieter now, and Beth ran right up to the screen and pointed. Under her finger, Kurt could just make out the tiny figure of Puck, striking a pose in those ridiculous pajama costumes they’d all had to wear. She turned back to the camera and said with great resolve, “Daddy!”

The video ran a few more seconds before finishing, freezing on the image of Beth with her face turned back to the screen, her head tilted to the side and her eyes on her daddy.

The room was quiet for a bit after Shelby had turned off the TV, and Kurt swallowed hard, pulling up his voice from wherever it had gone to hide. “Was that...her first time saying--”

“It was,” Shelby said. “It was about an hour after that that I got the call with the job offer in Chicago. Maybe the decision was hasty, but...I kind of panicked.”

“Why?” Kurt asked, and maybe that was a stupid question, but he still wasn’t quite past the reality of that name in Beth’s voice, and what hearing it would do to Puck.

“Because you and I both know how much seeing this video would affect Noah,” Shelby said, reading his mind a little and startling him back to attention. “I was holding my breath for the whole visit last week. I can’t believe she didn’t say it then.” She took a sip from her mug, looking weary. “I panicked because if she already recognizes him now, that means it’s only a matter of time before she gets attached.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Kurt said slowly. “Wasn’t that why you agreed to these visits in the first place? To give them an opportunity to bond?”

“Bond, yes,” she said. “But with the understanding that Beth and I have a life. I haven’t been job-hunting all summer so we could put down roots here. I want to get Beth out of this town. I want to raise my daughter in a place that’s...open-minded. Exciting. That will give her every chance to chase every dream she has.” She shook her head. “That place isn’t here.”

“Then why agree to the visits at all?” Kurt said, frowning. “If you knew you were planning on leaving the first chance you had, why open that can of worms at all?”

Shelby let out her breath fast, and Kurt was instantly reminded of Rachel. “Trust me, I’ve been asking myself that since all this began.” She drummed her fingers against her mug, seeming to be picking out her words ahead of time. Then she looked at him sort of the way his dad looked at him when he talked about his mom--a little stripped bare. “I’ll be honest. I don’t know how to do this. After she was born, I never really expected to hear from Noah or Quinn. I didn’t enter into this arrangement to keep her from them, so when you called for Noah, all I could see was this...fantasy, where Beth would grow up with all the people who loved her in her life. Everyone playing a part that made sense, and then staying in touch when Beth and I moved on. Simple. No broken hearts.” She stopped drumming and curled both hands around the mug, staring into it. “It’s the same mistake I made with Rachel. Fool me twice,” she added softly.

Kurt bit his lip and waited, because there really wasn’t anything he could say.

At length, Shelby sighed.

"Look," she said, "you and Noah have been great with her, and I love that he wants to be a part of her life. But I was a teenager once, too. I was a teenager when I had Rachel. And that first year without her was one of the hardest years of my life. I looked ahead to the day I'd be allowed to see her, and it felt like it stretched into eternity. My body was a mess, my emotions were all over the place. But looking back now, I think it was for the best that my drama and I had to stay away. It made her life stable."

"But she missed you. She still does," Kurt said carefully, a little unsure where his boundaries lay in this conversation. "She found out last week that I've been coming here with Puck and talking to you on a regular basis, and...suffice to say she's not speaking to me now."

"Oh, no," Shelby murmured, pressing a hand to her forehead. "God, I think it would have hurt her so much less if I had just stayed away."

That was definitely a boundary, and Kurt kept his mouth shut.

"I want Beth to have a father in her life. I do," Shelby said. "But the longer Noah keeps coming here, the more attached she'll get, and the more damage it will do when he figures out that he's got his whole life ahead of him. That he's free to live it."

"Oh, trust me, he knows."

"Maybe he thinks he does. But what happens in the spring, when you guys graduate from high school? What happens when he wants to go to college, or travel the world, start chasing his dreams a little? As soon as that happens, everybody loses. And if he decided to give up all his potential so he could stay close to Beth, because I let him get it in his head that he was expected to actually _raise_ her somehow, I think that would be even worse."

Kurt took it in for a moment, nodding. "He probably hasn't gotten that far ahead yet. He isn't best known for his forethought."

"Right. And all this isn't even touching how complicated this would be for Beth once she's old enough to ask questions. 'Why doesn't Daddy live with us? Why aren't you and Daddy married? How come Daddy comes to see me, but my other mommy doesn't?' God forbid I ever settle down with someone and complicate things even more."

It made sense, and Kurt wished it didn't. "So you want to just cut your losses now to avoid more pain later."

"Yes. Not for me, for her. I don't want her to have any question about whether she's loved and wanted and whole, her whole life, by everyone I let into her life." Her expression had shifted and become just like Puck’s: nothing but love, fierce, impossible love. “I believe Noah loves her. And I believe that right now, he would put his entire life on hold to be with her. But I can’t take the chance that he’ll live a few more years and his priorities will change. I know I would give my life for her. God, sometimes that’s _all_ I know for sure. And I need to know that every person I let that close to her will love her enough to do that, too.”

Kurt sucked in his breath, flashing on Puck slouching outside his dad’s garage and telling him the same thing.

“It’s better this way,” she said, though her words were much surer than her voice. “Better for it to happen now, while Beth...and Noah, both of them, are still young enough to move on--”

“He won’t.”

Kurt blinked, not realizing for a moment that those words had come from himself. Or that if he didn’t loosen his grip on his mug, it was going to break.

Slowly, calmly, he set it down.

“Noah isn’t going to ‘move on,’” he said, as sure of that as he had ever been of anything. “Not from this. Say and believe what you want about how young he is, or how much he might change, but I promise you that Beth isn’t some...some _phase_ he’s going to grow out of.” He sat up straight, finally finding the courage to lift his gaze that little bit more and look her in the eye. “He will change. We all change. But have you considered the possibility that he could change for the better?”

He tripped over his words for just a second--clearly it had been a mistake to fall asleep listening to _Wicked_ last night--and that second was what it took for Shelby to close off. “Of course I have,” she said softly, then shook her head. “I’m sorry, Kurt, this is a lot. I shouldn’t be dumping it on you. I didn’t mean to get you upset over my issues.”

“But they’re not just yours,” Kurt said. “They haven’t been since the day she was born. Before. Even when Quinn was still pregnant, he--”

“Kurt,” Shelby said gently, “I think it’s really sweet that you’re doing this for him. And trust me when I say I’m not trying to hurt anyone. But my first priority is Beth, and I think it’s for the best.”

Kurt frowned at the floor for a long moment, and then the words started coming out on their own.

“My stepbrother and I have both had a parent taken away from us,” he said, his voice tight and low. “My mom died when I was eight. I knew her. I have memories of her. I understood what it meant that night when my dad answered the phone and started crying.” He swallowed hard, pushing the words out faster before she could offer her condolences. “Finn’s dad was killed at war when he was just a baby. He doesn’t have any memories of him. He just has a chair, a photo, an urn, and his mother’s stories. Nothing else.”

Shelby watched him mutely, with softening eyes.

“We get by,” he went on. “We live. We have our parents, and each other’s parents, who love us unconditionally. We love them, too.” He took a centering breath. “But when I watch _The Sound of Music_ and remember my mom singing those songs to me, I cry. And do you know what happens when Finn hears the trumpets play Taps on Veterans’ Day?”

He paused, but didn’t wait. “He cries.”

Shelby lowered her eyes, and Kurt softened his voice. “I know it isn’t my place to tell you anything about raising your child. It isn’t. But I can tell you, from experience, that it doesn’t matter _when_ you lose someone that important to your life. They leave a hole behind. And no one can really fill it except the one who left it there.”

The room was silent after that, no sound but the steadily falling rain. It was unnerving, and Kurt abruptly stood, feeling like he couldn’t sit there anymore. “I should go. Again, sorry to intrude.”

“Not at all,” Shelby said, a pensive shade in her face as she set her mug down. “Are you going to be okay driving in the rain? You’re welcome to wait it out.”

“I’m fine. My baby was built for bad weather,” he said a little absently, glancing at his car through the window and wondering if he had accomplished anything at all. He turned back to Shelby. “May I ask you for one favor?”

Shelby lifted her eyebrows, nodding a bit.

“If you could...would you please get in contact with Noah this week and, at the very least, tell him what you just told me?” he said, wondering at the way Shelby’s eyes glazed for a second after it was out of his mouth. “I think he believes you’re trying to push him out of Beth’s life completely. He needs to know where you stand on this a lot more than I do. Even just knowing when he can see her...it would really help him.”

“I can do that,” she said.

Kurt nodded. “Well, then. Thank you for the tea, it was divine.”

Her mouth quirked up. “No problem. Drive carefully, okay?”

He did.

He drove so carefully, in fact--focusing very hard on the curves and puddles in the road and _not_ being utterly overwhelmed by the sheer volume of _feelings_ he’d gotten from too many different people that day--that when he got home, pulling around the blue coupe sitting in the driveway to pull into the garage, he didn’t notice a thing.

It wasn’t until he was out of the car, slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder and grimacing at the prospect of four days at home with Caveman Finn, that a very important detail caught up to him and stopped him dead in his tracks.

There was a blue coupe sitting in the driveway.

More accurately, a teal blue hand-me-down BMW-2002 with the navy and red patterned seat covers, and those ridiculous pink sunglasses hanging off the rear-view mirror.

Blaine’s car.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Puck comes to Kurt for help, and Kurt figures it can’t hurt to do a friend a favor. Unfortunately, everything is more complicated when there’s a baby involved.

Kurt didn’t remember moving his feet again, or shutting the garage door, or fumbling for his keys, but then he was standing in the entryway, speckled with rain, turning wide eyes on Carole in the living room.

“He just got here a minute ago. I sent him up to your room,” she said before he could ask, and she nodded toward the stairs with a reassuring smile. “Go.”

He was scaling the steps two at a time before she could draw her next breath.

It wasn’t until he got to the top, able to see his open door but not the room beyond it, that he stilled. Finn’s room was empty--not a surprise, as he had been practically living at Rachel’s this week--so the quiet shuffling of feet had to be coming from his own room. From Blaine.

_Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh--_

He mentally slapped himself.

After a few deep breaths, he straightened his shoulders, steeled himself, and crossed the hall to his door. And he meant to get his attention immediately, but once he was in the doorway, he took a moment and just looked.

He had his back to Kurt and the doorway, his hair a little mussed from the rain, his skin a shade darker than when he had left. In his hand was one of the photos from Kurt’s bookshelf--he couldn’t see which one from here--and his head was tilted down to look at it, turned just enough that Kurt could see the strong line of his jaw, clean shaven today, and a sliver of the warm brown of his eyes. As Kurt watched, Blaine heaved a slow sigh, silent, just a smooth wave through his shoulders and back.

He was gorgeous, just beautiful, and the reality that he could lose him after walking through this doorway made Kurt’s throat seize up with tears before they had even met each other’s eyes.

As if he had sensed it, Blaine suddenly straightened, then turned to look. For just a second, they stared. Then Blaine drew breath to speak.

Kurt was across the room and talking before the door could click shut.

"I'm sorry," he blurted before Blaine could even form a word. "Blaine, I'm sorry, I'm _so sorry_ I didn't tell you the whole truth, but you have to believe me when I say that I would never, _ever_ cheat on you. Ever. I didn't tell you because it wasn't my secret to tell, and I know that didn't stop me with Karofsky last year, but things are different now and I was panicking then and this time was just, it was _different_. I don't know how else to say it. And I know I've hurt people, and I know it's terrible that I still don't think it was wrong but if you could see him with her, Blaine, he's just someone else, he's so much better. So yes, I've hurt people, and that's my responsibility, but it _kills_ me that I hurt you. It kills me that you found out about it that way, and that the timing was so awful, and I'm _so sorry_. Just please let me tell you the whole story, and then if you still want to break up with me, then...then there's nothing I can--"

"Whoa, whoa," Blaine interrupted, snapping out of what looked like shell-shock and reaching forward to grab Kurt's hands, stilling them. "Kurt...you think _I'm_ here to break up with _you_?"

He sounded utterly mystified, and Kurt just stared back, not quite able to blink.

Blaine seemed to find his answer there, and his face opened, washing with something warm and disbelieving and distraught. "Oh my God. Come here." He tugged on Kurt's hands, prompting him forward, and wrapped him up in a hug.

Kurt stood frozen for a moment, and Blaine murmured into his shoulder, "Of course not. That’s not why I’m here at all."

Kurt's arms drifted up to Blaine's back, and he gaped like a fish for a little bit before choking out, "You...you mean you're not--"

"No," Blaine said, chuckling like a release and then dropping his voice to almost a whisper. "You're stuck with me."

Relief crashed through Kurt as though that whisper had broken down a dam, and he was squeezing back as hard as he possibly could, burying his face in Blaine's shoulder with wet eyes and a hard, shuddering exhale.

"Hey," Blaine said gently when the exhale was followed by a sniff. He ran a hand through Kurt's hair. "Hey, it's okay. _We're_ okay. We're great."

“Then--” Kurt’s voice broke, and he pulled away, though he couldn’t make himself let go. “Then why didn’t you _tell_ me that?” The confusion and the dizzying elation and the prick of anger were warring with each other inside him, and he held Blaine’s arms tight because if he didn’t, his knees might buckle. “You left me that message and then fell off the face of the earth. For a _week_.” His voice shrank. “I thought you hated me.”

Blaine dropped his eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said at a hush, stroking Kurt’s back with his thumbs. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…that wasn’t what I meant at all.”

He went quiet, his gaze still aimed low, and that wasn’t like him. Concern immediately rose in Kurt’s gut, because what if something had _happened_ , what if there was a death in his family, or he’d been sick or hurt somehow, what if he’d been in _trouble_ and Kurt hadn’t done anything because he was sitting around _moping_ like some self-centered…

He took a breath.

“Hey,” he said softly, reaching to cup Blaine’s jaw and coax his gaze back up. “What happened?”

Blaine looked back at him, then shook his head. “It’s stupid. And I was obviously being twice the idiot that I thought I was, so it was…really stupid.”

“Sex-talk-with-my-dad stupid?”

Blaine grimaced. “GAP stupid?”

“Oh.” Kurt idly rubbed his fingers back and forth through the hair just behind Blaine’s ear, aiming unfocused eyes at his collarbone and slowly bracing himself. “Tell me.”

Blaine seemed to search for his words a moment before settling on, “I wasn’t mad. I was maybe a little upset right after I heard, but that isn’t why. I just...” He let out his breath, his voice going quiet. "I was embarrassed."

Kurt frowned, catching Blaine's gaze before it could drop again. "About what?"

"About a lot of things," Blaine said. Kurt tugged on his hands, and they sat down on his bed. Blaine smoothed his thumbs over Kurt's knuckles. "When I left you that message, I was...kind of all over the place. I'd been home for about five minutes when I got this text from Santana--"

"Oh God," Kurt murmured, shutting his eyes.

"And I know you warned me to never click on any link Santana gives me, but the things she was saying about you...I wanted to at least know what I was talking about when I told her how out of line she was. So I looked, and it was this article."

"I'm sorry," Kurt began again, but Blaine gently shushed him, squeezing his hands.

"I mean, I was confused, but still. It was that guy's blog, from your school. You told me about him. So I didn't jump to any conclusions. But then I got a text from Mercedes."

Kurt winced, letting his head droop. Not that he hadn't assumed, but...still.

"She just told me to be careful around you, because you'd been lying to a lot of people, including me. And you two are so close. I would believe Santana might get upset over nothing and lash out, but not her."

"Yeah," Kurt said quietly. "And Santana had a reason to be angry. Not necessarily with _me_ , but I suppose I was the easiest target."

Blaine eyed him curiously. "You have more to tell me about than I thought, don't you?"

"Later. We're on you now."

"Fine," Blaine said, smiling weakly back. "So those texts were the last thing that happened before my phone battery ran out, and I was kind of dead on my feet at that point, so I charged it overnight and slept on it, to see if things would make more sense on Thursday. That's when I got your message. I think I listened to it about twenty times, just overanalyzing." He bumped Kurt's shoulder with his. "You're rubbing off on me."

"Normally I'd be flattered, but that's one quality I wouldn't wish on anyone," Kurt said, idly stroking Blaine's palm. Misunderstanding or no, it had been so long since he'd been able to do this that he couldn't stop _touching_. "So I assume that's when you left your message."

"Yeah. Probably not the wisest move, since I'd kind of spent the whole day psyching myself out." Blaine shifted, curling his hands around Kurt's with more intention. "And when you didn't say anything back--I mean, I know what I said, but just texting 'k' or something--I started thinking."

Kurt made a note to clarify that 1) Blaine should have been more clear about that in the message, and 2) he had been _grounded_ at the time, but Blaine seemed to be working up to something, so he kept quiet and gave his hands an encouraging squeeze.

Blaine lowered his eyes to their hands and kept them there, speaking softly. "Just about what right I really had to be upset when I'm the one who...threw the L-word at you and then ran away for three months."

Kurt blinked once, twice. "Wait. You thought we weren’t talking because you said 'I love you?'"

"I don't know. Not _only_ ," Blaine mumbled, looking sheepishly away. "I mean, it wasn't like I planned to say it just...out of nowhere like that, but you were so happy, and you were so...everything I loved about you, and it was just _true_. But I didn't even think about if you were ready for that." His eyes finally flicked back up, and Kurt's protest paused in his throat. "After reading the article, I was upset that there was this huge thing happening in your life, and you didn't tell me. But then I thought, maybe you were...ugh, can we just leave it at 'I'm an idiot?'"

Kurt shook his head, and Blaine sighed. "I thought maybe you were starting to pull away. That I'd completely freaked you out, but you didn't want to tell me so."

" _That's_ why you didn't call me?" Kurt said, dumbfounded. "Even after leaving that message?"

" _Especially_ after that. I mean, I really did want to wait and talk about this in person, because I wanted to hear it from you face-to-face. But as soon as I was off your voicemail, I got kind of terrified that I'd accidentally given you the excuse you needed to cut things off, and I started thinking that if I called you, you might...end it."

"Blaine."

He looked up with big eyes, actually a little flushed.

"You thought that I--I, Kurt Hummel--would _break up_ with you because you _told me you loved me_."

"Um. Maybe?"

"Not because you thought I was cheating on you with Noah Puckerman."

"Of course not," Blaine said, shaking his head like that had hardly crossed his mind. "Those photos didn't show anything except you spending time with your friend, who happened to be a guy. You were barely touching. When I drove away after we said good-bye at the beginning of the summer, Finn was practically _cuddling_ you."

"I was distraught!"

" _Cuddling,_ " Blaine repeated with a grin, and Kurt rolled his eyes. "But I wasn't worried, because I know you're not a cheater. It isn't who you are."

Kurt couldn't fight the smile anymore, and he leaned in to give Blaine a quick kiss before sitting back again. "But you think that fear of emotional intimacy _is_ who I am?"

"I don't know," Blaine said. "I mean...I know we said it a few times over text this summer, and that one time over the phone, but I think I kind of got fixated on the first time. When you, um, took ten seconds to say it back to me."

"Okay, wow.” Kurt shook his head. “One, it was eight point five seconds. I counted when I replayed it in my head to freak out over how long I took to say it." Blaine chuckled, ducking his head, and Kurt went on, "Two, I took eight point five seconds because I had about a tablespoon of piping hot nonfat mocha _in my windpipe_. You kind of caught me mid-gulp, O He of the Impeccable Timing."

Blaine laughed through a bit of a grimace, lifting Kurt's hands to press a kiss to them like he couldn't stop himself. "Three," Kurt continued, "I didn't call you until yesterday because I thought you loathed me and didn't want to talk to me. Also because I was grounded until school started. Don't ask," he said when Blaine opened his mouth.

"And four," he said, squeezing Blaine's hands tight, "I love you. It is _obnoxious_ how much I love you. And I'm so sorry for _anything_ I did to make you think I didn't." He smiled, a bit shy. "I'll say it back to you a thousand times."

Blaine murmured something like "God," and then Kurt's arms were full of him, his shoulders rolling back onto the mattress with a soft _whump_ and his lips fitting to Blaine's like that was what they were made to do. Kurt's eyes fluttered shut and actually grew a little damp, because the painful knot had been in his chest for so long now, and with one kiss, Blaine was gently pulling it undone.

The relief was almost too much, and Kurt exhaled a laugh into the kiss and hugged Blaine tight, sort of feeling like he could just melt into a puddle then and there.

Blaine was smiling when he pulled back, resting his forehead on Kurt's shoulder. "I'm sorry I'm an idiot," he murmured into his shirt.

"But a lovable idiot," Kurt assured him, kissing his temple and stroking his back. “That said, next time? Leave the bouts of crippling insecurity to me. I’m a professional. And then _talk to me_.” He pulled back a bit to make sure Blaine knew he was serious. “The second we start acting based on what we assume instead of communicating about it...just, that’s the second that things can start to break down. Really fast. And I have no intention of going through a week like this one ever again in my life. So no more silent treatment nonsense, okay?”

“Yeah,” Blaine said, his smile edged with guilt now. “Yeah. Communication good, mutual freak-outs bad. Got it.”

“Bingo,” Kurt said. "So, if I hadn't called yesterday…"

Blaine rolled onto his side, turning Kurt with him with a loose grip on his hip. He smiled when Kurt tangled their legs together. "I'd probably still be here, actually."

"Really."

"Yeah." His fingers brushed skin where Kurt's shirt had ridden up, and he paused, meeting Kurt's eyes. He didn't continue until Kurt had nodded his permission. "I kind of ended up on the receiving end of a three-pronged attack."

"Hmm...oh?" Kurt pulled his focus away from the warm-rough-gentle texture of the guitar-calluses on the pads of Blaine's fingers, forcing himself to pay attention. "And here I thought I was the only prong in your life."

"Silly."

"You love it."

"I do." A quick kiss. "You were the second one, actually. And that sort of led into the third one, because I...possibly chickened out of answering the phone a little, and as soon as Wes and David figured out it was because I was avoiding you, they kind of staged an intervention."

"What?" Kurt’s eyebrows shot up. "What did they do?"

"Essentially barricaded me in my dorm and interrogated me for fifteen minutes, and then stole my phone and played your message on speaker." He regarded Kurt with a semi-fake pout. "You'll be happy to know that all of my friends like you way better than me."

"They do not," Kurt laughed.

"No, I mean it, they do! They didn't bat an eye when I was pouring my heart out, but..." He sobered a little, softening his voice and splaying his fingers possessively across the small of Kurt's back under his shirt. "But it got to the part where your voice sort of cracked." Kurt kissed his forehead because it really was okay now, and Blaine took a breath. "And Wes did that appalled hand-flying-to-the-mouth thing that he insists is absolutely manly, and David just glared at me like I'd kicked his puppy."

"Poor baby."

"Quiet. You're _so_ the favorite. I remember when _I_ was the favorite."

"I have a response for that, but it may make both of us gag."

Blaine gave him an indulgent smile. "You're my favorite, too."

Kurt groaned, and Blaine chuckled. "God, we're _that_ couple. We're the kissing Valentine's puppies. Ew."

"I liked the kissing puppies."

" _Anyway,_ " Kurt prompted.

Blaine pulled him closer nonetheless, back to stroking slowly across his spine and making him shiver. "Anyway," he said, "the only thing that kept them from carrying out their initial plan--the plan being, David getting me in a Full Nelson and Wes dialing your number to make me explain myself--was my promising to come here today. Which I was kind of planning on at that point, anyway."

"Remind me to send them a gift basket," Kurt murmured, leaning in, and Blaine hummed agreement and met him in the middle. Kurt opened his mouth a little to let him in, then pushed him onto his back, and a low grunt rumbled from Blaine’s chest, and Kurt forgot what they were talking about altogether.

“Missed you,” Kurt murmured between kisses, and Blaine breathlessly echoed it back to him, and it was perfect.

Two minutes could have passed, or maybe twenty, before his dad’s footsteps started up the stairs, and they jerked apart and nearly rolled off the bed, flushed and rumpled, snickering and shushing each other and scrambling to get their shirts buttoned back up before the door could open.

Blaine slung an arm around him as they positioned themselves innocently against the headboard with the first Vogue magazine they could find, and the relief and the scramble and _them being okay_ had Kurt just so giddy that he was still chuckling helplessly into Blaine's shoulder when two gruff knocks were immediately followed by the door swinging open.

"Hi, Dad," he said breathlessly, trying very hard to straighten out his expression but having a hard time of it, as his laughing was making Blaine fight the giggles, too. "You're back early."

His dad looked between the two of them with a lifted eyebrow and an ironic twitch to his mouth. "Deadliest Catch is on."

While Kurt nearly broke something thinking on _that_ parallel, his dad switched his attention. "Blaine."

"Hello, Mr. Hummel," Blaine said, and it looked like he'd just given up trying to compose himself, his smile big and genuine and his face still a little pink.

"You have a good summer?"

"Yes, sir."

His dad nodded, glancing at Kurt again, and Kurt beamed back. His dad's mouth twitched up again, and he nodded to Blaine. "Good to have you back."

"Thank you, sir."

"It ain't the Marines, kid," he said, looking at him with a funny, fond expression before turning away and focusing on Kurt. "Door open, and keep it PG."

"Of course," Kurt said brightly, almost too brightly, biting back another laugh when Blaine pinched him for it.

Once his dad was out of the doorway, they leaned on each other and giggled like children for a few minutes, gasping and tearing up and holding each other so tight.

When they could finally breathe again, Blaine dropped his arm down to his waist and tugged him farther over, brushing Kurt’s side with his thumb and pressing a kiss to his neck. “Hey,” he whispered, a smile still in his voice.

Kurt smiled back. “Hey, yourself.”

“You’re done with school for the week, right?”

“Mm,” Kurt confirmed, tilting his head and reaching back to tangle his fingers in Blaine’s hair. “Teacher work days.”

“Us, too,” Blaine said, his voice still low and breathy on his neck and sort of making him want to break various rules. “I think it’s statewide.”

“Is that so?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Intriguing,” Kurt murmured, though it was hard to stay on topic when Blaine was doing that with his mouth. “And how-- _mm_ \--how do you propose we celebrate this fortuitous turn of events?”

Blaine smiled against his skin and finally pulled back, resting his forehead against Kurt’s temple. “Come back with me?”

“Yes,” Kurt said immediately, closing his eyes. “God, yes. Take me away.”

“Yeah?”

Kurt swung his legs around into Blaine’s lap and turned to face him. “I’ll have to check with my dad first, but somehow I don’t think he’ll have a problem with it.” He cupped a hand to the side of his mouth and dropped his voice to a stage-whisper. “He secretly likes you.”

Blaine perked up, looking for all the world like an intrigued puppy. “Really?”

Kurt laughed and bopped him with a pillow. “You never look that excited when I tell you _I_ like you.”

“But it’s your _dad_ ,” Blaine said, like that explained everything, and Kurt rolled his eyes. Grinning, Blaine pulled him into his lap. “So, I’ll drive? I can bring you back this weekend and we can spend some time around here before I head back.”

“Are you sure? That’s a lot of driving.”

“It’s a lot of driving anyway. I’d rather have your company. And I still haven’t heard your side of this whole story yet.”

“Ah,” Kurt said, deflating a little at the reminder of the world outside this bubble. “There was that.”

“Also, I should probably give Wes and David some proof that we’re okay. I wouldn’t want them to think _you_ got _your_ heart broken,” he said with an exaggerated huff.

“I can assure you _no one_ wants that. My wrath is great and terrible...” Kurt began, but then he paused, thinking back. “Wait. You distracted me. You said you had three reasons for coming here today. You only said two.” He stilled his hands from where they had been smoothing over Blaine’s shoulders. “What was the first one?”

“Oh,” Blaine said, shaking his head as though to jog his own memory. “Yeah. The first one was the message from Puck.”

Kurt's mind came screeching to a halt. "What?"

"Yeah. He didn't tell you?" Blaine said, his eyebrows lifting. "He sent me this Facebook message that was...kind of epic. His spelling is...interesting, so I'm not one hundred percent sure, but he gave me a basic idea of what’s been going on with you guys all summer. He seemed pretty determined to get me to come here.”

Kurt gaped. “When was this?”

“Yesterday,” Blaine said. “I got it after Wes and David let me out on the promise of good behavior.”

“Huh,” Kurt breathed, thinking back to the annoyance in Puck’s face just a few hours before, when he’d told him he still hadn’t heard from Blaine. “Wow.”

“That was pretty much my reaction.”

Kurt marveled a moment longer, then shook himself back to the matter at hand. “Well. I have some doe-eyes to make at my father so we can get on the road. What do you think?” He pulled his face into a hopeful pout, his eyes big and pleading, and Blaine laughed helplessly and tugged him into a hug.

“Love you,” he said against Kurt’s ear, and Kurt smiled.

“Love you, too.”

-

_> > **You:** thank you_

_> > **You:** thank you_

_> > **You:** thank you_

_> > **You:** thank you_

_> > **You:** thank you_

_> > **Puck:** ur spose to be makin out with ur gargler, not me_

_> > **You:** :))))))))))))))) Oh, if you insist._

_> > **Puck:** dork_

_> > **You:** Caution, Mr. Puckerman. I’m in a dangerously good mood. When I get back from Westerville, I might hug you._

_> > **Puck:** dude_

_> > **You:** For longer than two seconds._

_> > **Puck:** dude WOAH now ur fckn with th bro code_

_> > **You:** And WITHOUT hitting you in any way. :D_

_> > **Puck:** gaaaaaaaay_

_> > **You:** And how. :Dd_

_> > **Puck:** ur so fckn weird_

_> > **You:** Nope. Just fabulous. :)_

_> > **You:** Oh btw, can I show Blaine pictures? I don’t have any on my phone, so you can send whatever you’re comfortable sharing. If that’s ok?_

_> > **Puck:** incoming_

_> > **You:** OMG yes the baby rock star one, I love that one!_

_> > **You:** You have very good instincts. Blaine loves Tigger probably as much as Mike. It’s adorable and strange._

_> > **Puck:** thats cuz tiggers a fckn rebel dude. piglets a pansy_

_> > **Puck:** ...dude rly, ur not srsly ofended by that r u cuz i might have to kick ur ass if u are_

_> > **You:** ......You named the book one unclekurt.jpg?_

_> > **Puck:** what_

_> > **Puck:** i dunno_

_> > **Puck:** dont remember_

_> > **You:** Yep. You’re so getting hugged._

-

By the time Blaine was unlocking the door to his dorm room and holding it open for him, Kurt had talked himself hoarse, gushing and ranting and backtracking and despairing while Blaine kept a loose grip on his hand, both eyes on the road. It wasn’t until he was inside and staring at the rumpled sheets of Blaine’s unmade bed, though, that the day, and the week, and the whole summer truly caught up with him and nearly knocked him flat.

The bed drew him like a moth to a flame, and he just managed to get his button-down off his shoulders and hanging over the desk chair (exhaustion be damned, he was _not_ going to get that shirt wrinkled) before hitting the mattress and flopping down facefirst.

He groaned with relief the second his head hit the pillow, and he curled both arms around it, letting out a blissful breath. “Oh, yes. I missed you.”

Blaine sounded amused when he asked, “Are you talking to me, or that pillow?”

“Yes.”

There was a soft laugh, a bit more shuffling, and then the mattress dipped with Blaine’s weight. A warm, flat palm ran slowly up between his shoulder blades, then down across the small of his back, and he sighed happily into the pillow. “You make a compelling argument...”

“I’ll best the pillow yet,” Blaine said in his haughtiest British accent, and Kurt snickered. There was a smile in Blaine’s voice when he began to gently work the tension from the back of Kurt’s neck, earning an appreciative groan. “We don’t have to work through the baby drama tonight. You’re exhausted.”

“Mm-hm.” Blaine began to knead down from his neck, working his fingers firm and slow at the tops of his shoulders. “I think I’m done thinking today.”

“I don’t blame you. It sounds...really complicated.”

“‘Complicated’ doesn’t _begin_ to descri-- _ah_ \--” A choked-off yelp broke from Kurt’s throat when Blaine kneaded over a still-angry bruise under his shoulder blade, from when Azimio had shoved him into the lockers on Monday.

Blaine immediately drew back. “What? Did I hurt you?”

Kurt let out his breath, uncurling himself and rolling his shoulder. “No. No, you’re fine, sweetie.”

“Kurt...”

“Less fretting, more back-rubbing.” A beat, and Kurt sent him a pout. “Please.”

Blaine frowned at him, but obeyed, this time keeping his hand flat and his touch light. “Kurt, come on. What happened?”

“Oh, you know. Between betraying and alienating my friends, getting embroiled in scandalous rumors with Puck, and McKinley being...McKinley, suffice to say I’ve been feeling like the friendly neighborhood piñata this week.”

Blaine’s voice went sharp. “Is Karofsky back to--”

“No,” Kurt said quickly, meeting his eyes a moment before closing them again. “No, he’s...he’s been pretty great, actually.”

“Great? Really?”

“Really. Some of the other jocks have upped the ante a bit, most likely to assert their position on the food chain early and scare the freshmen into immediate submission, but Dave hasn’t been one of them.”

Blaine’s hand paused. “It’s ‘Dave’ now?”

“Mm. Well, ‘David,’ technically, but we already have one of those.” He opened his eyes to meet the concerned gaze that he knew was waiting for him. “He’s better, Blaine. He’s trying. I think he’s unofficially appointed himself as my personal bodyguard.”

“I know you guys were talking on Facebook,” Blaine said, his voice carefully neutral. “But you’ll understand if I’m not rolling out the welcome wagon just yet, right?”

“I do,” Kurt agreed. “Just believe me when I tell you that he’s actually one of the people who kept me sane this week. He’s so careful, Blaine. He can barely look me in the eye. He hasn’t touched me, innocuously or otherwise.” He broke the gaze with Blaine to look forward at nothing. “It’s like…he used to put all this effort and energy into keeping up this persona, this big, dumb jock who would never, ever be gay. But now he’s putting all of that same energy into letting go of the façade. Trying…if not to completely be himself, then at least to not be anyone else.” He closed his eyes a moment when Blaine started rubbing his back again. “I’m not saying we’re going to be skipping down the halls to all of our classes chanting ‘Schlemiel, Schlimazel,’ but we’re…okay. Right now.”

“But the bullying is still getting worse?”

“Not worse, per se. Just...more like it used to be before Dave and his issues took center stage. And Monday was the only day it got that physical.” As soon as he’d said it, though, something occurred to him, and he exhaled a wry laugh. “Well.”

Blaine’s hand stopped again, and Kurt probably shouldn’t have said that. “What?”

Kurt sighed, because ‘Nothing’ was definitely not going to slide. “Just do yourself a favor: never, ever engage with Quinn when she’s in crazy-mode. At least not without proper protective face gear.”

“Wait,” Blaine interrupted, his voice sharp with concern. “She hit you?”

“That she did,” Kurt said. “I had to double my moisturizing routine on that side for the next three days.”

“Did she hit Puck, too?”

“Mm, no.” Kurt wriggled a bit until Blaine’s hand started moving again. This time his touch was almost too light, barely there. “I think I was kind of the transition point between the dagger-shooting rage and the uncontrollable sobbing.”

Blaine started to form a word, then paused, then started again. “I mean…did anyone _do_ anything?”

“About the sobbing or the rage?”

“About her _hitting_ you.”

“Oh. Yes, Puck yelled at her,” Kurt said with a slow shrug. “Though at that point he was on the defensive, so he was kind of yelling about everything.”

“But no one else? Mercedes, or Finn--”

“Finn was upstairs consoling Rachel.”

“--fine, or…Tina? Or Sam? They watched her hit you, and they just stood there?”

“Honey, calm down,” Kurt said, reluctantly pushing himself up and turning around. “She slapped me. She didn’t bludgeon me with a baseball bat. I am merely the umpteenth in a long line of McKinley men who have suffered the wrath of a scorned Quinn Fabray.” Blaine’s brow stayed furrowed, his eyes big and concerned, and Kurt took his hand and pressed it to his own cheek, holding it there. “See?” he said gently. “Fine.”

Blaine traced Kurt’s cheekbone with his thumb, back and forth, then sighed. Kurt pressed a kiss to his palm and gave it a squeeze before letting go.

Blaine dropped his hand to Kurt’s knee, the ghost of a frown still on his face. “Are you using anything for the bruising? On your back,” he added quietly when Kurt opened his mouth.

Letting out his breath, Kurt shook his head. “Not bad enough.”

“If it’s still there, it’s bad enough,” Blaine said. “Stay here, okay?”

“And where exactly do you think I would go?” Kurt called as Blaine swiveled off the bed and turned on the light in his bathroom, then began to rummage through the medicine cabinet. Blaine didn’t seem inclined to play along with the banter this time, though, and he searched in silence a bit more before coming back with a small jar.

Blaine sat down again and reached for the hem of Kurt’s undershirt, but then paused, holding the edge with the very tips of his fingers. His eyes flicked up to Kurt’s. “Can I...?”

Kurt nodded mutely before he could scare himself out of it, and Blaine leaned in to give him a quick, quiet kiss, then slowly, carefully lifted his shirt over his head.

Kurt had to take a breath as soon as it was off, swallowing down a minor freak-out because he and Blaine were moving slow and there had never been quite this much skin involved, much less _his_. His arms curled loosely over himself automatically, his eyes dropping to the mattress. (He hated his torso, he _hated_ his torso, it was a cross between a ten-year-old and an awkward vampire and a featherless bird, _why_ did he let Blaine do this, Blaine was going to revile him and then feel awkward and not ever want to be close to him again and--)

Blaine’s fingers ran through his hair and his voice lowered next to his ear, whispering with absolute certainty, “You’re gorgeous.”

Kurt bit back a squeak of...something, he wasn’t entirely sure what, and drew his knees up, burying his burning face in them. “Quit it.”

There was a puff of a laugh against his ear and a kiss to his temple, and he smiled goofily into his knees. Blaine dropped his hand to Kurt’s shoulder and gently coaxed him to turn. “Let me see.”

Kurt obeyed, lowering his knees and turning his back to Blaine before fully remembering why he was doing it. Then Blaine sucked in his breath, and he remembered.

He hadn’t gotten a good look at the bruising, really; there had been far too many other things requiring his attention and energy and despair this week for him to waste time studying his back in the mirror. It didn’t hurt much unless he bumped it or twisted wrong, so he hadn’t given it much thought. Thinking back now, though, about the sharp ache that had practically rattled his bones for a second when Puck had kind-of-sort-of knocked him into the lockers--and he was _not_ going to tell Blaine about that detail--he couldn’t imagine it had gotten much better.

At least, not as far as Blaine was concerned.

“Babe,” he said, his voice soft and sad, and Kurt closed his eyes because he hated being the one to make him sound like that. Blaine’s fingers ghosted over the bruise--shoulder blade almost to mid-back, yep, not much better at all--and he found he had nothing to say.

After a moment, Blaine quietly let out his breath, and then his forehead was pressing to Kurt’s shoulder, his hand curling gently around his hip. Thickly, he whispered, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“Were you planning on sneaking into McKinley on your first day of school just in case someone felt like shoving me?”

“You know what I mean.”

Kurt sighed, covering Blaine’s hand with his own. “It was a misunderstanding. Both on your part and on mine,” he assured him. “And I had people looking out for me. I still do. Promise.”

“Not the way they should be. Just…these bruises, and Quinn…” Blaine’s voice was tight, the only sign he would ever give that he was angry, and Kurt lifted a hand to stroke through his hair. “I hate that people think it’s okay to just… _hurt_ you.”

His arm curled tighter around Kurt’s waist as he said it, and the tiny movement was so protective and somehow intimate that it tugged in Kurt’s chest. He turned to press a kiss to Blaine’s hair.

“It takes a lot more than a wayward locker to hurt me,” he assured him in a whisper.

Blaine wrapped his other arm around Kurt and hugged him tight. “We’ll figure this out, babe,” he promised.

And Kurt had said those words so many times this week, to Puck and to Carole and to himself when worries wouldn’t let him sleep, that hearing it from someone else, just for him, made the tension slip out of him like water down a slope. Blaine brushed the lightest of kisses to the bruise on his back, then began to spread something over it that was cool and tingly, never pulling his other arm away from his waist.

A half hour after that, they were tangled together under the sheets in pajama pants and nothing else, kissing slow and easy for ten minutes straight before curling up together and whispering good-night.

Exhausted as he was, though, Kurt stayed awake for a bit while Blaine snuffled softly against his chest, basking in the sheer peace of that moment, something he hadn’t experienced in what felt like ages.

Smiling, he reached for his phone and texted Puck, Wes, and David a final _thank you_ before turning it to silent and closing his eyes.

-

 **Kurt Elizabeth Hummel**  
Gone to Westerville. Back sometime.  <3  
Blaine Anderson, Wesley Montgomery, David Maximus Thompson, Jeffrey WarblerMan Sterling, Puck Zilla, Tina Cohen-Chang, and Artie ’Prof X’ Abrams like this.

_Comments:_

_**Puck Zilla:** get a room_

_**David Maximus Thompson:** Yesss, the pout-a-thon is over!  
Wesley Montgomery, Jeffrey WarblerMan Sterling and Kurt Elizabeth Hummel like this._

_**Wesley Montgomery:** Agreed. I must respectfully ask that you two never get in a fight again. He was giving us all puppy-dog eyes for a week straight, and it did nothing for group morale._

_**Jeffrey WarblerMan Sterling:** LOL yeah, it was sorta like being followed around by an ASPCA psa...well ok, not THAT depressing but..._

_**Thadeus Harwood:** Seconded. Please fix him._

_**Blaine Anderson:** Yes, I was TOTALLY pouting. In other news, I really shouldn't leave my laptop open after fighting my boyfriend about the appropriate setting for fashion sneakers without socks (conclusion: such a thing does not exist). It's a good thing my boyfriend is fabulous, otherwise he'd be doing some pretty embarrassing things on my account right now. Like posting that video I didn't think he was recording of me performing--with full choreography--the entire overture fro;aijhb  
David Maximus Thompson, Jeffrey WarblerMan Sterling and Puck Zilla like this._

_**Blaine Anderson:** OH MY GOD. You're all terrible people._

_**Jeffrey WarblerMan Sterling:** ...Blaine, did you just tackle your boyfriend to get him off your comp?_

_**Blaine Anderson:** Of course not, I jus_

_**Blaine Anderson:** Kurt here. Yes, yes he did. Oh brb, about to get tackled aga;slknb,_

_**Jeffrey WarblerMan Sterling:** LOL_

_**Jeffrey WarblerMan Sterling:** ...So they’re offline now. XD_

_**Puck Zilla:** lmao get it hummel_

_**David Maximus Thompson:** Bow chicka!_

_**Wesley Montgomery:** Tmi, gentlemen..._

-

They decided it would be the most painless to talk through the Beth situation over breakfast at the cafe, but they had barely gotten two steps out the door when someone shouted, "Hey, _Kurt_!" and he turned just in time to be nearly knocked flat by an armful of Warbler.

Kurt let out a grunt that turned into a decidedly embarrassing yelp when Jeff lifted him all the way off the ground in a bear hug that made him burst out laughing. “Hi,” he managed to stagger out, his grin widening when David appeared over Jeff’s shoulder, Wes on his heels. “Kurt, my man!”

As soon as his feet were back on the ground, Kurt met David in a high-five before being tugged away from Jeff and into another hug, this one tight enough that he could barely move his arms to do more than awkwardly pat David on the back before he was released and allowed to breathe again. (Wes was much easier, sharing a knowing grin before extending a hand for a firm shake, then surprising him with a brief, pleasant hug of his own.)

On pulling back, Kurt could hardly get a word out before the three of them were fussing over him from all sides, making sure that Blaine was behaving himself, that he’d apologized properly, and was Kurt doing okay because they heard he was having some trouble back in Lima, and did he need them to road-trip to Lima and smack anyone down because David would be _all over that_ \--though of course he was always welcome to transfer back if he needed to, oh _man_ he would be just perfect to sing lead on this Imogen Heap song they had planned, maybe as a guest soloist for the recording, did he know they were doing a _recording_ this year?--and he looked like he was losing weight, was he eating enough, and was it Blaine’s fault, because they could _definitely_ take care of that for him, and--

“Guys,” Blaine finally intervened through a laugh, gently coaxing them back a step. “Wow. Give him a second to breathe. Oh, and thanks for all of _my_ hugs. I really feel the love here.”

The three of them snorted almost simultaneously, David slinging an arm around Kurt’s shoulders. “We see you all the time.” Then, his focus going straight back to Kurt, “So where are we going this fine morning?”

Blaine gestured to them, his eyebrows shooting up as if to say, ‘I told you!’ and Kurt finally broke, doubling over and nearly laughing himself to tears. He reached for Blaine and tugged him into a consolation hug, patting his head while he replied, “We were just heading to the cafe for breakfast and some...well...”

“Talking it out?” Blaine offered through his pout, and Kurt nodded. “Yes. Some talking it out.” Then, after exchanging a glance and a half shrug with Blaine, “But of course, you’re all welcome to join us.”

So it was that he ended up crowded into the corner booth of the cafe, squashed in between David and Jeff so they could make more room when they ran into Nick and Thad, idly tracing Blaine’s ankle with the toe of his shoe while trying to keep up with three conversations at once. Thad bemoaned his sad summer fate of having to spend three weeks with his insane relatives in Portland; Jeff and Nick tag-teamed with tales of their adventures as counselors for a kids’ music camp; Wes grew more animated than Kurt had ever seen him as he talked about volunteering with his family in Uruguay. David rolled his eyes at all of them and grumbled about being stuck at home watching his sister while his parents had gone on their second honeymoon (at which point Jeff and Nick chimed in with cat-calls, resulting in what very nearly devolved into a full-on food fight after they each got a breakfast potato to the face).

And Kurt felt... _good_. Really, really good, for the first time in just too long.

And that was odd, because if he’d thought anyone could give him that right now other than Blaine, the rest of the Warblers would not have been his first guess. He'd meant what he'd told Puck about Dalton: he'd liked it, but he had never felt like he truly belonged. At least, never like this.

But then, he also hadn't expected Puck to trust him. He hadn't expected Dave to defend him, and he honestly hadn't expected the Warblers to miss him.

It really led a boy to wonder what _else_ he didn't know.

Before long, their plates were empty and Wes was shooing the rest of the boys out of the booth. "Kurt and Blaine have some private matters to discuss, no need to wear out our welcome--Jeffrey, Nicholas, stop hanging off of Kurt, we'll all see him later." He glanced up. "You will be staying for the weekend, right?"

The rest of them looked at Kurt hopefully, and he nodded. "Most definitely. There is no way I am leaving without hearing everything about this recording that's going to be happening and who I have to kill to be involved in the process."

"Hey, once a Warbler, always a Warbler," Nick piped up, and Wes nodded.

"There certainly won't need to be any killing involved," he assured him. "Though if anyone else did have a problem with your involvement, we would gladly help you hide the body."

There was a general sound of enthusiastic assent, and Kurt shared a knowing glance with Blaine before biting back a laugh.

They left in a flurry of hugs and high-fives (though not before tackling a sulking Blaine in a dogpile of a group hug that made him absolutely _squeak_ ), and finally it was just the two of them again, the quiet starting to settle back in.

Blaine gestured toward their usual table near the center of the room, and they moved their things and sat down.

“You looked surprised,” Blaine said once they were settled.

“Hm?”

“When they all showed up,” he clarified, taking a sip of his coffee. “I told you they’d be happy to see you.”

“Yeah,” Kurt said, shaking his head. “Yeah, I know you did, I just...lately I’ve been having to reevaluate a lot of the things I thought I knew about people.”

It ended up coming out a little sadder than he meant it, and Blaine offered him a sympathetic smile.

“Okay,” Kurt exhaled before the moment could stretch too long. “Let’s get this over with.”

“I love your attitude,” Blaine said brightly, and Kurt made a face and kicked him under the table, not nearly hard enough to hurt. Blaine laughed, but drew his leg back. “Come on. I told you we were going to figure this out, and we’re going to. I’m at your disposal.”

“Thank you for that,” Kurt murmured. “And pardon my snark. I just really don’t know where to start.”

“Well,” Blaine said, “what are you worried about the most?”

Kurt thought about it, trying to sift through the mountain of glares and broken hearts he’d witnessed over the past week, and shook his head again. “I guess...the thought of not being able to fix this. For anyone. Not for lack of trying, mind you,” he added, his gaze flicking up and back. “There really isn’t anything I’m worrying about less than anything else, but I suppose an umbrella statement for it would be that I’m...terrified, that the only way this situation can end is with a trail of broken friendships that no one cares enough to try and fix. I mean...Glee has split into two opposing factions, with Puck and me somehow at the head of one of them. The other one is built around Quinn, and even though only two of them really had any loyalty to her in the first place, it’s like that just doesn’t matter. Finn, Mercedes, Rachel...they all chose.” His voice quieted and shrank. “They didn’t choose me.”

Blaine looked thoughtfully into his coffee cup, stirring it slowly. "You know I'm with you, one hundred percent," he said at last, "but did you ever think they might feel like you did the same thing to them?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, think of it from...say, Finn's perspective," Blaine said. "It sounds like this baby is a really polarizing subject for you guys, and especially for him. So for everything that has to do with the whole situation, he and Puck are probably going to be on opposite sides." He paused. "Am I getting it right?"

Kurt nodded. "Go on."

"So, he's just starting to feel close to you as a friend, as a member of his family, and then he finds out that the baby--"

"We've been referring to the whole situation as 'Babygate.' For future reference."

Blaine smiled, shaking his head. "He finds out that 'Babygate' was brought back into your life, and you had the choice of taking Puck's side and agreeing to help, or taking _his_ side and refusing." Gently, he said, "You didn't choose him."

Kurt lowered his eyes, thinking back, looking at nothing.

"The same goes for Rachel. Or, I assume, for Quinn. Maybe it isn't fair for them to look at it that way, but to them, it probably looks like you were given the option to pick sides, and the side you chose wasn't theirs. Instead, you chose Puck's, when you didn’t really have any loyalty to him, either."

In half a voice, Kurt said, "No one was on his side."

Blaine sighed through his nose, reached across the table for his hand and squeezed it.

"I mean..." Kurt frowned, trying to get his thoughts in order. He hadn't realized how much he had gotten used to just turning the situation over and over in his mind, never working through it out loud. "Am I just the worst friend on the planet? Is there something I'm missing if I still feel like I'm being punished for doing a good thing?"

"You're not the worst friend on the planet," Blaine loyally replied, and Kurt squeezed his hand back. "You're a great friend. Just...maybe in a little over your head."

"You saw those photos. Maybe you haven't known him as long as I have, but if you did...this is saving him, Blaine. And Beth, God, she just _knows_ him, like she's always known him, and he would do absolutely anything for her, and...and she called him 'Daddy' and he doesn't _know_ , and that is so much more tragic to me than having told my friends a few little white lies."

Blaine pressed his lips together, and Kurt realized he was squeezing his hand rather hard. He immediately let up, murmuring an apology and bringing Blaine's fingers to his lips. "And it isn't my fault that Beth's adopted mother just happens to be Rachel's mom, or that she and I just happen to have a compatible sense of humor and the shared goal of integrating forward-thinking fashion into every aspect of our lives. She's a lovely woman. I'm not a criminal for talking to her."

"No, you're not," Blaine quietly agreed.

"And Finn...I know how it must look to Finn, but may I just say that he hasn't said a word about Beth since the day she was born? It took him time to forgive Puck, but he did. But now, two years later, Babygate is _mentioned_ again and suddenly he decides he's going to hold a grudge after all?"

Blaine's thumb kept running soothingly across his fingers, back and forth, back and forth.

Kurt sighed, sitting back. "I've been trying to figure out why it's so hard for me to see their side and so easy to see Puck's, and I think what it is, is just that... _no one_ cared what he had to say, Blaine. He's supposed to be our friend, and I never realized until now just how invisible he is. He went to _juvenile detention_ \--granted, it was because he did something unfathomably stupid--but what was everyone's response? We laughed, like it was something he'd had coming to him anyway. And when it came out that he was seeing Beth, not one person spoke up about how brave it was, or how responsible it was. No one asked what she was like, or if she looked like him--she does, God, she really does--or even how she was. They just stood behind Quinn while she ripped him to shreds."

He shook his head, a little surprised at how angry he really felt. "And it's been like that since the beginning. And I’ve been an offender, too, I realize that. It doesn't matter how he tries to explain himself--no one listens, and no one takes him seriously, because they think that since he acts a certain way, or looks a certain way, he's…incapable of being anything but this box they put him in. He’s trying, so hard, and just…no one…"

"No one seems to notice?" Blaine finished gently, a knowing tilt to his voice, and Kurt's mouth snapped shut.

He met Blaine's eyes, and Blaine smiled faintly back, and was it really less than than a year ago that they had sat across from each other in this cafe for the very first time, and Kurt had blinked back tears whispering that exact same thing?

"Yeah," Kurt said, hoarse with the memory. "Just like that."

Blaine nudged Kurt’s foot with his, and they just sat for a bit, eyes lowered in thought.

“So,” Kurt finally said, suddenly remembering his coffee and lifting it to his lips. “Sage advice. Proceed.”

“Sage advice,” Blaine echoed, nodding a bit at the table. “Well. I don't know how qualified I am to say anything, since I'm not really a part of the situation. But for you...who's still mad at you, again?"

Kurt turned his eyes to the ceiling, counting off on his fingers. "Quinn, Finn, Rachel, Santana on principle, Mercedes is on the fence and taking Sam with her--though I have it from the man himself that he's a secret Pummel sympathizer--don't look at me like that, it's what we do--and I think Lauren is MIA."

"Wow." Blaine lowered his eyes in thought, absently tracing the heart line in Kurt's palm with his fingernail. "And how many of them have you tried to talk to?"

"Mercedes, with marginal success," Kurt said after taking another sip. "Finn, with no success at all. I'm leaving Lauren to Puck."

"And the rest of the girls?"

Kurt shook his head. "I don't know what I can say. The only communication Puck or I have gotten from Rachel and Quinn are two wildly passive-aggressive performances in Glee. And Santana...God. I want to let her be Puck's problem too, because he was definitely in the wrong there."

"I would agree."

"But at the same time, I feel like putting the two of them together when they're both upset is just lighting a pile of fireworks in an enclosed space. I'm uniquely sympathetic to both of their situations. If anyone is in a position to be a neutral go-between for them, it's me." He sighed. "I just wouldn't put it past Santana to shoot the messenger."

"Yeah," Blaine murmured. "I could come talk to her with you?"

"Because that worked so well the last time I had to confront someone with gay insecurities and a history of violence," Kurt chirped, and Blaine rolled his eyes. "No, I appreciate it. But I think Santana responds better to one-on-one. And in any case, neither of them have given any indication that they _want_ to make up. Glee club is just this insanely tangled web of cold shoulders and death glares right now. It's hard to keep track of them all."

"It sounds like it," Blaine said. He thought a moment more, then leaned forward on his elbow, giving Kurt's hand a squeeze. "Okay. I have a thought. And I don't think you're going to like it very much."

"Clearly you are unaware how this works," Kurt deadpanned, gesturing between the two of them, "but go on."

Blaine exhaled a laugh, looking back at him with an adoring expression that made Kurt positively _preen_ before setting his coffee down. "I think you need to apologize."

Betrayal flashed through Kurt and he opened his mouth to protest, but Blaine held up a hand. "Hear me out. Are you sorry for helping Puck?"

"No," Kurt said, firm and immediate.

"Right, and you shouldn't have to be. But are you sorry for hurting everyone's feelings?"

Kurt frowned. "Of course. I was wallowing in guilt over that for weeks before it even happened."

"Exactly," Blaine said. "After hearing the whole story, it doesn't sound to me like anyone is really _wrong_. It's just a complicated situation where not everyone can win. You know you're not trying to pick sides, but is there any reason that _they_ would know that?"

"Well...they know _me_ ," Kurt said, deflating, because of all of this, that was what really hurt. "They know that yes, I have my selfish moments and I don't always operate based entirely on reality, but--I don't go out of my way to really hurt people. They did this before, too, when those rumors were going around about Sam. They just assumed I was the kind of person who would cheat on my boyfriend before I would respect someone's privacy. And now, when I _did_ protect someone's personal business, I'm the school pariah." He finally pulled his hand away from Blaine's, stretching it across his forehead. "Why should I apologize when they're the ones who keep assuming the worst of me?"

"Because they didn't assume that," Blaine said gently. "From what you're telling me, it sounds like they assumed you would be very loyal--to _them_. They assumed you would always be on their side. Before Puck's, anyway."

"Well, I used to hate Rachel, too, but no one cared when we finally joined forces. She’s hurt just as many people as Puck has, just in different ways."

"And there shouldn't be a difference," Blaine agreed. "But for whatever reason, they assumed you would be the most selfless and perceptive person in the world and operate with all of _their_ best interests at heart.”

“As opposed to whose? Mine? What on earth was I supposedly going to get out of helping Puck?”

“I’m willing to bet they’re all wondering that same thing,” Blaine said. “It’s hard to talk to someone when you’re not sure where they stand. I’m not saying you have to give a public apology or agree with them that you were wrong, because this obviously isn’t that simple. But just acknowledging that they’re hurting, that how they feel really matters to you...that can mean a lot.”

Kurt dropped his eyes to the table, and he was maybe pouting a little. “Blaine. You’re only supposed to be wise and helpful when it involves me _not_ doing anything I don’t want to do.”

Blaine sat back with a shrug. “It’s just my two cents. Follow it or ignore it, and I won’t take it personally. In the end, you really just have to do what you think is right.”

“I know,” Kurt said.

Blaine took his hand again, and for a long time they didn’t say any more.

-

The rest of the long weekend was a whirlwind of late nights and lazy mornings, of interactive viewings of _Clue_ and _Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog_ with Warblers strewn all over the couches and the floor of the community room, of laughing himself sick and of texting obscure quotes to Puck and of at least three harmonies appearing around him at any given moment whenever he absently hummed a song, and of kissing Blaine, of kissing Blaine, of kissing Blaine.

He didn’t let go of Blaine’s hand for one second of the long drive home.

Blaine stayed in Lima just long enough for a quick double date with Tina and Mike, which hilariously ended up with Blaine and Mike chattering animatedly for almost the entire meal and coming a breath away from declaring themselves Best Friends Forever while Tina and Kurt exchanged fond, incredulous glances and shook their heads.

It was only when they were back in his driveway, standing at the driver’s-side door to Blaine’s car, that it finally started to sink in. Blaine was going back, and the safe, drama-free bubble they’d been living in all weekend could only stretch so far.

Blaine seemed to feel it, too, and they probably could have stood out there for hours, hugging tight and kissing slow and murmuring “It’ll be okay” and “I’ll miss you” and “I love you” over and over again if his dad hadn’t appeared on the front step, arms crossed and ‘I-strongly doubt-my-son-actually-slept-on-your-futon’ frown firmly in place.

“Kurt,” he said, and Kurt pried himself away just enough to glance back. “Blaine’s got a long trip ahead of him. You’d better let him get going before it gets any darker.”

Kurt decided not to wonder just how long his father had been standing there while he’d been obliviously macking on his boyfriend, and instead turned back to Blaine, who looked back at him with a watery smile and said, “So.”

“So.”

“I’m really glad you could come down this weekend.”

"I'm really glad you didn't break up with me."

"I'm really glad I don't have to defend your honor against Puck," Blaine said, his earnest grin growing wide. "I'd do my best, but...he would crush me."

“I wouldn’t let him,” Kurt promised, smiling probably way too big to be cute, but when Blaine looked at him like that he didn’t care.

He hugged Blaine one last time, warm and tight, closing his eyes as they breathed each other in. Letting go, he took Blaine’s chin and gave him a last lingering kiss. “Love you,” he whispered against his lips on pulling back, and Blaine smiled and murmured it back, clinging helplessly to Kurt’s waist.

Kurt’s dad cleared his throat, and Kurt rolled his eyes and took Blaine’s hand. “Drive safe,” he said, dropping a kiss on the backs of his fingers. “Call me when you’re back.”

“I will,” Blaine said, squeezing back. “Good luck tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” Kurt held on a little longer before finally, reluctantly letting go. He stepped back while Blaine said a polite good-bye to his dad and opened the car door, meeting Kurt’s eyes once more time with that gorgeous, smitten smile. “Talk to you soon.”

“You’d better.”

The door closed, and the car backed out, and Blaine pressed his fingers to his lips and lifted his hand in a wave as he pulled away.

And that was that.

Kurt took a deep, slow breath, in and out, and found that as sad as he was to let the weekend end, he was...okay. Centered. School and glee club would be challenging tomorrow, but he didn’t feel crushed under the dread of it anymore. Finn probably wasn’t going to talk to him tonight; he would soon. Mercedes hadn’t contacted him yet; he would talk to her tomorrow.

His friends might not forgive him right away. That certainly didn’t mean he was going to stop trying.

And he had a plan.

So when his dad wrapped an arm around him to guide him back inside, the smile Kurt had for him was real. And once they were inside, when his dad asked if he had anything to tell him about what had been going on with him lately, his chest stayed loose, no tugs, no knots.

“I’m okay, Dad.”

“I believe that now,” his dad said slowly, regarding him the way he did when he was waiting for the catch. “But you want to explain to me why you’ve been wandering around here like a ghost all week? Or why you just ran off for four days, and your brother didn’t ask where you were even once?”

Ouch, but manageable. “It’s complicated,” he said, because that was true, and he offered his dad another cool smile. “Don’t worry about it, Dad. I’m figuring it out. Promise.”

His dad eyed him skeptically, but didn’t push any more. “You boys behave yourselves down there in Westerville?”

“Of course. I like Blaine’s futon. It’s comfortable.”

“Yeah, I bet it is,” his dad deadpanned, and Kurt grinned cheekily before pecking him on the cheek and turning toward the stairs. “Love you!”

“Yeah, yeah, love you too, squirt. Read your pamphlets while you’re up there.”

“Already did!” Kurt sing-songed back as he headed upstairs and straight for his room. He didn’t bother trying to talk to Finn’s closed door just yet.

Instead, he closed the door behind him, sat down at his computer, and pulled out his phone.

_> > **You:** Are you busy and/or averse to having company right now?_

He had barely gotten the name of the sheet music he wanted into the search engine when he got a reply.

_> > **Puck:** food w/ fam after that im good what up_

Ah, there it was. Kurt clicked on the link, looked over the guitar part. Not too hard (at least, as far as he could tell). Puck had a great ear; he’d pick it up like nothing.

_> > **You:** Tired of people hating us. I’ll be over in an hour. Have your guitar ready._

_> > **Puck:** im not gonna fckn apologize for seeing her_

_> > **You:** Don’t worry. Neither am I._


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Puck comes to Kurt for help, and Kurt figures it can’t hurt to do a friend a favor. Unfortunately, everything is more complicated when there’s a baby involved.

Puck opened the front door, gave Kurt a long, quirked-eyebrowed once-over, and said, "Damn, Hummel. Gargler gave it to you good, huh?"

In reply, Kurt stepped across the threshold and administered a much-deserved hug.

Puck snorted, and Kurt could almost _hear_ his eyes rolling, but he clapped Kurt a couple of times on the back and lasted an impressive five seconds before muttering, “Okay, okay,” and prying him off, shaking out his shoulders. “Dork.”

Kurt only smiled back, still so relaxed and dreamy from his four-day dose of Blaine-time that he didn’t even blame Puck for assuming the naughtiest. Not that Kurt planned on clarifying that for him one way or the other.

He shut the door behind him and followed Puck up the stairs, offering a pleasant hello to Mrs. Puckerman as they passed the living room and pretending not to notice her double-take. Once in his room, Puck dropped down on his bed and tugged over his laptop while Kurt bent a leg under himself to settle on his futon. “So,” Kurt said. “Talk to me.”

Puck glanced up from the computer just long enough to frown at him. “Thought this was your show.”

“In time. You first.” Kurt regarded him, calm and steady, going over a mental checklist of the things he wanted to address while he was here. Not counting the hug he’d threatened/promised (for he would never let it be argued that he was not a man of his word), this was number one on the list. “I realized about two hours ago that as a result of your selfless act of Facebook stalking, I essentially abandoned you for four days, starting with probably the worst possible day to do so.” He fought a grimace, because he had never wanted to become the person who couldn’t adore his boyfriend without forgetting his friends. “I’m sorry.”

Puck rolled his eyes and dropped them back to the screen. “Whatever.”

“Not ‘whatever,’” Kurt said, more gently. “Honestly, I was…kind of drowning for a while there, and you threw me a life raft. Or something. Blaine might identify more with water wings.” He frowned, shook his head. “But the trade-off is that I willingly fell off the face of the earth for a while, and I never really checked in with you after Wednesday. So.” He caught Puck’s eye again. “Talk to me.”

“I’m not stupid, Hummel.”

Kurt’s eyebrows lifted.

Puck leaned back on his hands, looking more relaxed than Kurt had seen him look in weeks. “Shelby called.”

Kurt’s eyes widened by a fraction; that conversation with Shelby felt like ages ago, but it wasn‘t ages ago at all, was it? For some reason, he’d sort of assumed she’d just told him she would call so that he’d stop waxing poetic about the nature of loss and get out of her house. “…Oh?”

“Yeah. Said we should stop over after glee club on Wednesday.”

He paused, and Kurt carefully pressed, “Only that?”

Puck shook his head, glancing at the screen, hitting a key, and keeping his eyes there. “We talked some shit out. Not all of it--guess that’s what’s gonna happen Wednesday.” His gaze met Kurt’s again. “Point is, she told me who showed up at her house and damn near shoved the phone down her throat to call me.”

Kurt blinked. It hadn’t once occurred to him that Shelby might share that little detail.

There was no reason to deny it, so he just ducked his head a little and kept quiet, feeling oddly sheepish. That seemed to be answer enough.

“So cut out the ‘abandoning me’ bullshit,” Puck said, simple and easy like he hadn’t sounded since that day in the park with Beth, before it all fell apart. “We’re good.”

A smile found its way to Kurt’s face, small but real, still coming so easily after this weekend that he felt a little ridiculous. “I daresay we are.” A satisfied breath, in and out. “So I have to assume, by the general lack of destruction, that the conversation went relatively well?”

Puck shrugged. “Didn’t really talk about that much. She said like eight times that she’s not hauling ass out of Lima just to keep Beth away from me.” He made a face, like he was fighting a grin. “‘Least she admitted I’m a total stud at this being-a-dad thing.”

“Verbatim, I’m sure.”

“Dude, I told you I don’t do French. Anyway, the important thing is I got her talking about Chicago. Where she’s looking for apartments and stuff.”

Kurt flashed on the clenched-jawed, admittedly scary Puck who had just found out Shelby and Beth were going to be leaving town, and couldn’t quite reconcile him with this calm version talking about it like it had been part of his plan all along. “So...you’re...okay with it now?”

Puck shrugged again, his face closing up a little. “Not like I’m gonna be throwing a parade for ‘em. But she said she’s cool with me still being in Beth’s life, you know? Besides, I play my cards right, they aren’t even gonna _be_ in Chicago.”

Um. “Beg pardon?”

“She can’t go to Chicago,” Puck said, so matter-of-factly that Kurt boggled a little. “She doesn’t know it yet. But that’s a no.”

“Didn’t you just say--”

“She told me about Chicago,” Puck went on, picking up his laptop. “So I did some research. Crime rates and stuff.”

Oh, no.

“Check it.” And then there was a laptop heating up his legs and a screen full of statistics that made him briefly go cross-eyed. “That one on top? That’s murders. And the other one is child abductions. Look at the freaking percentage, dude!”

Kurt did. Or, he tried. For about two seconds.

Then Puck was pushing the laptop shut, forcing Kurt to look at him. “You know what that means?” he said, wide-eyed and deadly serious. “It means that if we lined up every kid at McKinley on a block in Chicago, then statistically, _Beth is totally going to get kidnapped_.”

Kurt squinted at him, his mouth opening, then shutting. “…Um.”

“Seriously. Kidnappers are crazy fuckers, dude. Most kids who get kidnapped are _dead_ in the _first three hours_.” His eyes were frighteningly wide now, and Kurt had to wonder just how much time he’d spent this weekend sitting by himself in his room looking at scary statistics. “So then I started checking out that company that hired her? Turns out they’ve got branches in Columbus _and_ Cincinnati.” He grinned, bright-eyed and boyish and terribly proud of himself, and Kurt’s heart sank. “She doesn’t even have to go to Chicago, dude! They’d still be out of Lima, Shelby still gets her sweet gig, and we could go visit when _ever_. Columbus is like an hour and a half away. We could knock that shit out in an afternoon.”

Puck snatched his computer back and dropped back down with it on his bed, absolutely _smug_ with pride, while Kurt tried to find the words but kept getting stuck on how easily Puck said _we_. “I’m gonna tell her about it Wednesday. No way’s she gonna say no, right?” Thankfully, he didn’t wait for Kurt to reply. “It’s freakin’ _perfect_. I’m a total genius.”

He was totally delusional.

After gaping for a few more seconds, Kurt managed to ease out, "Puck...maybe you should think this through a little more."

"Dude, I've done nothing _but_ think about it all weekend. It's foolproof. Besides, she said she wants what's best for Beth. Once she hears these stats, no way is she gonna take her out of Ohio."

"Puck, there's going to be crime no matter where she is--"

"Dude, will you quit being a downer? I've got it handled." That settled, Puck jutted his chin toward the papers still in Kurt's hand. "So what's the big plan?"

Kurt waffled for a second, because if Puck really thought he could convince an adult to change her _life plan_ because he spent a couple of days on Wikipedia, it very much needed to be addressed. But then Puck was already off the bed and snatching the sheet music out of his hand, flopping down next to him on the futon to look through.

After reading for a second, he lifted an eyebrow. "Dude. Seriously?"

He didn't sound impressed, and Kurt shook off the rest of the conversation. Right, he'd had a speech prepared for this.

"It's not an apology," he said quickly, groping for the calm that had walked him through the front door. "It's just a peace offering--"

"Which is the wussy version of an _apology_ ," Puck snapped, and Kurt held up his hands.

"Look," he said, "none of this is going to get solved if none of us are _talking_ about it. If the others want to be immature and hold out, fine, but that doesn't mean we have to."

"Stopping you right there. Forgot you're new to the whole people-hating-your-guts thing, so--"

"I _beg_ your pardon?"

"Not the gay stuff. That's different. That's people hating _what_ you are. They get a taste of _who_ you are, chances are they figure out you're a decent dude and they chill out." Puck shifted to face Kurt more directly, holding the sheet music out of range when Kurt reached for it. "Me, I'm the opposite. What _I_ am, everyone wants. I'm a stud. Everyone wants a piece of this." Kurt’s face flattened, but Puck forced his attention again with a louder, " _Hey_."

Puck's face was strangely serious when Kurt looked back again. "People are all about the _what_ with me. But when they get to the _who_ , that's when shit gets ugly. That's when you get Quinn crying all over everything and Finn punching me in the face and no one doing shit about it, because they figured out I'm the bad guy."

And didn’t that just sting all the more when Puck said it now than when Kurt had explained it to Blaine. "Puck, that's not--"

"Same thing is going on now," Puck went on, unfazed. "I've been here before, but you're a newbie, so I'm gonna break it down for you: this isn't _about_ being mature or not. It's about _pride_. Loyalty."

Kurt lifted an eyebrow. "So, would that make us the Jets or the Sharks?"

"Dude, shut up and listen.” Kurt huffed an exhale, but obeyed. “According to everyone who’s pissed at us? _We’re_ the bad guys here. You and me. That means one wrong move, and they pounce.”

“Pounce?”

“You heard me. Until those guys get over it, you look at them the wrong way, all of a sudden you’ve _always_ been looking at ‘em the wrong way. One fuck-up, and they won’t see you as anything _but_ a fuck-up, no matter what. So the next time something shitty happens to you, they won’t even blink, because they’ll figure you had it coming anyway.”

Kurt didn’t let himself ignore the curl of hostility finding its way into Puck’s voice. He knew exactly why it was there; he had helped put it there.

“But the only thing worse than those guys pouncing because you screwed up, is them pouncing because you went _belly_ -up. Either of us gives an inch right now, they’re gonna take that inch and walk all over us. If you don’t hold your own, then whatever you say, they’re gonna hear as _you_ telling ‘em _they’re_ right. And that’s _bullshit_.”

“Noah, you don’t _know_ that,” Kurt finally said, grabbing for the sheet music again and glaring when Puck again held it out of reach. “Sitting and waiting for five different people to let go of five different grudges is not the way to solve a problem. This _song_ ,” his voice strained as he lunged for the sheets again, practically climbing over Puck before successfully snatching them back with a huff, “will open the channels of communication. Once that happens, we’ll finally be able to tell the others the whole story while they’re actually listening. Once _that_ happens, they’ll have a better understanding of our respective motivations, and they’ll have to see that those motivations were honorable. Therefore, we are no longer the bad guys, and the fence-mending will _finally_ have a chance to begin.”

The silence--at least, underneath the upbeat pounding of Jordie’s stereo next door--landed so heavily that Kurt’s shoulders nearly sagged under it. Puck stared at him from under a flat brow.

“Dude. You’re freaking delusional.”

Had Kurt allowed himself to act out what was going on in his head, his palm would have hit his own face with an audible _smack_.

As it was, he let his breath out in a _whoosh_ , looking heavenward and gathering his composure for a moment before painstakingly setting the sheets aside. “Know what? Okay.” Puck lifted an eyebrow. “Okay. If you don’t like it, you don’t like it. Song’s out.”

“That’s more like it.”

“ _But_ ,” Kurt continued on top of Puck’s last word, “as much as it’s your right to avoid the others forever, there is one person I simply cannot avoid.”

“Uh, dude, I spent five years of my life chasing you around two different schools. I knew every primo hiding spot at Lima West Middle, and I’ve got damn near all of ‘em at McKinley, and you _still_ ninja’d your way out of sight half the time. When it comes to avoiding people, you’re kind of a freaking pro.”

“I _live_ with him, Noah.”

“So? You know he spends half his free time getting bitched out by Berry and the other half sitting on the ‘net going all deer-in-headlights over American Gladiator chick-porn. Avoiding him nine more months until we graduate? Done deal.”

Kurt blinked several times. Attempted to close his mouth. Then ultimately squeezed his eyes shut, shook that moment off of him, and moved right on because...no.

“I’m not going to do that,” he said, quiet and firm. “He’s my brother, or at least the closest I’m ever going to get. I said I wouldn’t hurt him, and however unintentional it might have been, I went back on that promise. I’m taking responsibility for that.” A thought occurring to him, he pulled out his phone. “But I’m going to need some help.”

“Dude, where’ve you been the last _ever_? I’m _not_ rolling over--”

Kurt loudly cleared his throat, punctuating it with a halfhearted glare. “We’re on _me_ now.”

Puck rolled his eyes, but slouched back and waited nonetheless.

“I want Finn back. I want him back _immediately_ , and in order to do that, I need to get him talking to me. As long as Rachel is within blaring distance, I’m certain beyond doubt that that’s not going to happen.” Glancing up, he clicked his tongue at Puck’s scowl. “For your information, I wasn’t actually planning on recruiting you. I just want you to be aware that this is happening. If I do require your services, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

“Whatever. Your funeral.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Just sayin’.”

Kurt tapped out the rest of his text and sent it off to Tina, then slipped the phone back into his bag. “I suppose we’ll know tomorrow.”

“Guess so. Just keep your kumbaya-yahs out of my shit.”

“Naturally.”

Silence but for the muffled stylings of the Spice Girls next door. Kurt frowned into the air.

“...American Gladiators.”

“Yup.”

“You _know_ what kind of _porn_ he--”

“Yup.”

“Oh my God.”

“Dude, he was my boy all the way through puberty. Who do you think hooked him up in the first place?”

“Oh my _God_.”

-

_> > **Blaine:** Back safe, miss you like crazy already :(_

_> > **You:** Ugh, you have no idea. I can already feel the drama seeping into my pores. It’s horrifying._

_> > **Blaine:** Uh oh. Did you talk to Puck??_

_> > **You:** Scarred. I am scarred._

_> > **Blaine:** D: Not that! What did he do?_

_> > **You:** Just please tell me you’re not a fan of American Gladiators. Please._

_> > **Blaine:** I never really watched it? I liked Dexter’s Laboratory..._

_> > **You:** And this is why I love you.  <3_

_> > **Blaine:** It was awesome! I used to run around the house pretending I was Dee-Dee :D_

_> > **You:** Would this be last decade or last year? :P_

_> > **Blaine:** Both. :P_

_> > **Blaine:** (Love you too  <3)_

_> > **You:** So tomorrow begins Operation Prodigal Bro. It may take some small-scale abduction, but as long as I can get Finn to vocalize in the general shape of English, I’ll consider tomorrow a success._

_> > **Blaine:** Good luck babe_

_> > **You:** Thanks, Dee-Dee dear. I have the distinct impression that I’ll need it._

-

On Monday morning, Kurt intercepted Finn halfway across the driveway, took him firmly by the elbow, and steered him toward the Navigator.

"Uh-uh," he said when Finn tried to jerk away. Holding on tight, he opened the passenger door and gave Finn a push toward it, crossing his arms and trapping him there. Finn scowled at him. It wasn't a good look for him.

"Here's the deal," Kurt said. "Today, you're riding with me, and you are going to talk. I will contribute as I see fit." Finn moved to go around him, and Kurt stepped into his path. "If you have a problem with this, you may say so--with words. Otherwise, if you want me to move, you're just going to have to hit me. And you had better knock me flat, because the shoulder-bumping? Over it."

Finn's eyebrows twitched down. That was all he did for a moment, and Kurt hoped to the heavens that he hadn't underestimated the extent of his stepbrother's wrath.

Levelly, he went on, "My first class is Macroeconomics, and I spend it sketching practical fashion designs for the gender-enlightened man and calculating their eventual impact on the global economy. I have absolutely no problem standing here for the next sixty-eight minutes."

Finn's brow lowered further, and he looked between Kurt's eyes like he was searching for a bluff. Kurt planted his feet and waited.

Finally Finn looked away, his face still sour. "I've got to pick up Rachel."

"He speaks!" Kurt gasped, throwing his hands up in fake shock, and he earned a glare. It didn't really matter, because Kurt hadn't realized until that moment that he'd _missed_ Finn's voice. "As a matter of fact, you don't. She didn’t know it when she woke up this morning, but she’s going to be joining Mike and Tina for a safe and eco-friendly carpool."

"You can't just kidnap me. I could call the cops."

"We're going to the same place, Finn. Also, really?"

Finn shifted moodily on his feet.

"Look," Kurt said, forcing some of the authority from his voice and softening the edges. "I obviously can't force you to say or do anything you don't want to. But for better or worse, this needs to stop, and I'm not moving from here until you are either sitting in that seat or _making_ me move. You've made it abundantly clear that you're upset with me. I'd prefer to avoid any physical aggression, because we both know I kind of have a complex, but...if a close encounter with your fist is what it will take to reopen the channels of communication and get my brother back, then I'll take it."

Without meeting his eyes, Finn mumbled, "Stepbrother."

It was the first time Finn had actually used that word, and it nearly opened up a faultline in Kurt's core. By Finn's expression, it wasn't doing great things for him, either.

"Fine," Kurt said, quietly. "That doesn't change what you are to me." After taking a moment to grasp for the confidence he'd started with, Kurt said, a little stronger, "Are you getting in or not?"

Finn didn't answer right away, his gaze anchored to the ground. Then he shrugged off his backpack and got in the passenger seat.

Looking straight ahead through the windshield, he said, "I don't want to talk to you."

"I've gathered that," Kurt said. "I'm getting in now, and if you try to make a break for it, I will start this car and chase you down."

Finn slouched a little more in the seat and didn't reply.

Kurt shut the passenger door and walked around to the driver's seat, taking a deep breath. He could do this. If he and Finn could get from screaming in the basement to Bruno Mars, they could get through this.

"Seatbelt," he reminded Finn as he started the car, waiting until it was grudgingly snapped into place before backing out of the driveway.

After two blocks passed without a word, Kurt sighed. "Finn, this is about you, okay? I don't want to spend this ride talking at you when you're clearly the one hurting." For a moment he flashed on Puck in that passenger seat, rolling his eyes when Kurt made it clear he wouldn't take part in anything that would hurt Finn. "I want to fix this. But I won't know how until you talk to me."

Finn looked out the window, silent.

"...Fine," Kurt said. "Then I'll tell you what I think I know. You may feel free to correct me."  
He took a deep breath, went over the speech in his head.

"I think," he said, "that you feel like I've betrayed you. It was...brought to my attention that helping Puck might seem like I'm choosing sides. I want you to know that that was never my intent, and I apologize if I made you think it was."

Watching Finn carefully from the corner of his eye, he went on, "I think you're upset that I lied to you, and you're right to be. You've been lied to enough. You didn't deserve that from me, too. I'm sorry for breaking your trust."

Finn's gaze shifted from the window to the windshield, and Kurt grasped at a sliver of hope. Blaine's voice repeated in his head like a mantra, _Acknowledge that he's hurting, and show him that matters to you._ "I also think that I let myself forget how much Babygate hurt you. How much _Puck_ hurt you. You weren't talking about it, so I let myself believe you were over it. I should have known better than to assume anything about your relationship with him. So I'm sorry for that, too--"

"You're a jerk!"

Kurt's mouth snapped shut.

Finn looked for just a moment like he hadn't meant to blurt it quite that loudly, but the look faded in an instant. They came to a stop light, and for the first time since getting in the car, Finn looked Kurt in the eye.

"You don't even get it," he said.

Kurt stared back, eyes wide. "Don't get what?"

"Why this is bad," Finn said. "You don't get why this is messed up."

The light changed, and Kurt reluctantly returned his gaze to the road, swallowing. "Then explain it to me."

Finn took a second to reply, and Kurt kept quiet, letting him get his words in order.

"I'm not mad at Puck. This isn't even about him. It's not even about Beth. It's about you."

That was not what Kurt was expecting to hear.

Quietly, he asked, "Why is it about me?"

"Because you're not an idiot."

"...What?"

"You heard me." It occurred to Kurt that while forcing Finn to have dialogue with him while trapped in a moving vehicle was an effective plan in theory, this was not the best conversation to have while trying not to drive into a pole. Finn glared into the corner of his eye. "You're not like Puck and me. You're smart. You notice _everything_. So, so you knew from the beginning that this was gonna suck. For _everyone_."

"Finn, there's no way I could have--"

"Then how come you lied? If you didn't know it'd be bad, how come you tried to hide it?"

"Because it was Puck's business, and he asked me to," Kurt said, as diplomatically as he could. "Yes, I knew it was a sensitive situation, but--"

"You didn't _care_." Kurt couldn't stop a flinch; Finn was practically shouting at him now. "I get Puck doing this. I get all of it. I've known him forever. He gets really intense if he's got somebody to take care of, and he doesn't think about how other people feel when he does stuff. His head just doesn't do it." Finn seemed to catch his volume, but only lowered it by a fraction. “So I get why he did it. He wanted what he wanted, so he forgot to think about who it would hurt. You just didn’t care.”

Softly, Kurt said, “Finn, of course I care.”

“No, you really don’t.”

“ _No_ , I really _do_ ,” Kurt said, his brow lowering and his back starting to tense. “I’ll have you know that I warned Puck, multiple times, that I wouldn’t do anything that would hurt you--”

“Yeah, okay, so you lied to me, and you decided to be best friends with my ex-best friend, and you went to see her anyway, and, and _then_ , just in case that wasn’t _enough_ not-hurting-me, you helped Puck sing to her when you were the _only one who knew_ I was gonna sing to her, too.” Kurt’s breath pulled in, the one tiny waver in Finn‘s voice utterly breaking his heart. “Gee. Thanks. Nice to know you care.”

“I…don’t know what you want me to say,” Kurt said. “I can’t change what happened, Finn. It was never about choosing sides.”

“Then what was it about?”

Kurt opened his mouth, but there was nothing waiting to come out. He closed it. The McKinley parking lot came into view at the end of the street. Hushed, helpless, he said, “He just wanted someone to drive him.”

Finn huffed a breath next to him, and his hand was already on the door handle as Kurt pulled into a free space and slowed to a stop. He turned to face Finn, and Finn looked back, his eyes hard and hurt, his mouth a thin line. Outside, the other students passed obliviously by.

“Well, that’s not all you did,” Finn said, his voice soft but striking in the quiet left by the killed engine. “That’s why this sucks.”

He pulled up the lock on his door, swiped up his backpack, and paused only to say, “Tell Mom and _Burt_ I’m going to Rachel’s after school.”

The surprise of it stung more than anything, and Kurt actually grimaced. “Finn--”

Finn vanished with the painfully final _thud_ of the door slamming shut.

Kurt didn’t move for a long moment, sitting numbly in the silence. That wasn’t how that conversation was supposed to go. It was supposed to make things better, not drive a wedge through their family, and...

His phone buzzed with a text, and Kurt wearily dug it out of his bag.

_> > **Puck:** saw finn just now wearin his hulk face. told ya_

Kurt groaned and dropped his forehead to the steering wheel.

-

_> > **You:** I need someone to tell me I’m not a terrible person._

_> > **You:** ...Damnit. You turn your phone off in class._

-

Kurt hardly made it three steps around the corner after pocketing his phone when someone looped an arm through his elbow and tugged him into the stairwell.

He immediately wrenched himself away, only briefly terrified that the arm belonged to Azimio and he was about to get pitched down the stairs, before getting a good look at his abductor. His eyebrows flew up, and his mouth shut.

Lauren Zizes crossed her arms and leveled him with a narrow stare. "So."

Kurt blinked a few times, thrown off, before straightening and composing himself. "Hello, Lauren," he said uncertainly, smoothing out his sleeve. "To what do I owe the--"

"Cut the crap, cutie-pie," she said, and he lifted an eyebrow. "What's the deal with Puckerman?"

"And you, his girlfriend, are asking me, his friend and alleged wanton lover, why?" Kurt deadpanned, so _not_ in the mood for this after crashing and burning so spectacularly with Finn.

"You were gone for a while last year, so I'll let it slide that you don't know how this works," she said. She held up a finger. "First off, I could care less about Jacko's article. Honestly, I thought it was kinda hot."

Kurt stared at her. She shrugged. "You've got a cool Edward-Jacob thing going on. I'm a woman. I've got needs. Second of all," a second finger went up, "the whole point of keeping my boy toy on notice was because I like watching him squirm."

"And yet, this remains the healthiest relationship he's ever had..."

"Once you get Zized, you never go back," Lauren said, punctuating it with a snap that nearly made Kurt rather inappropriately burst out laughing. "The problem: there's been zero percent squirming and one hundred percent brooding. And while I admit he wears the angst pretty well, it's annoying."

Kurt cocked his head, skeptical. “And the difference between squirming and brooding would be...”

“Squirming equals groveling, a.k.a. falling all over himself explaining the deal with the kid and giving me whatever I want until I’m satisfied. _Brooding_ is actually paying attention and going M.I.A. when I tell him to get lost. It’s boring and pathetic. I’m starting to get embarrassed for him.”

“Uh...huh.” Kurt opened his mouth to snark something back at her, but paused, because something was just _off_ about this conversation. Something about her wasn’t matching up with what was coming out of her mouth. Going back over it in his head, he found himself pausing and hovering over one spot: _explaining the deal with the kid_...

Kurt studied her again, something shifting in his mind. “You...want Puck to talk to you again.”

“Please,” she said, and he couldn’t for the life of him tell if the pause following it meant _of course not_ or _of course that’s what I want_. “Give a lady some credit.”

“He thinks you don’t want him to,” Kurt said, carefully editing himself to keep from sharing too much. This was very much Puck’s conversation, not his. “And for the record, he told me at the beginning that he didn’t want you involved because he didn’t want to put you off with his personal drama.” He paused, then decided he might as well go all in. “Because he finally had you.”

Lauren frowned at him a little, but didn’t say anything, and Kurt crossed his arms, sighing. “I’m sure you have no interest in my advice, but I frankly don’t care. Puck has...sort of a history of people turning their backs on him whenever he makes a mistake.” _No one seems to notice,_ echoed in the back of his mind, and the curl of guilt caught him all over again. “Honestly, I think he’s used to it enough by now that he isn’t bothering to reach out anymore. If you want...whatever it is you want from him, and I do not ever want to know the full extent of what that is, then I really think you should reach out to _him_.” Softer, he added, “If you want in to that part of his life, he’ll let you in.”

Lauren rolled her eyes. “I’m trying to decide who’s a bigger girl right now. Him, or you.”

And that struck a nerve in spite of everything, especially after he’d already been shot down once today from an attempt to reach out, and Kurt narrowed his eyes, his voice going sharp.

“I really don’t think you want to start on definitions of femininity and masculinity with me, especially when you are wearing _combat boots_ as a laughable attempt at civilian attire. There is a time and place. My eyes are _burning_. Furthermore, it’s my personal opinion that you’re lucky Puck hasn’t cut it off with _you_ by now. Everyone turned on him, and all you did was throw Santana four feet and then treat him like he’s nothing. If you want to be a part of his life, go up to him and _be_ a part of his life. If not, cut him loose and I’ll catch him. But you have a lot of nerve to keep stringing him along when he’s going through a really difficult time in his life, and if it keeps on, you should know that I am not above showing anyone, guy or girl, what happens when designer boots meet Cheerio-level kicking skills. Are we clear?”

Lauren studied him calmly for a moment, then gave a small, approving hum. “Look at that. He’s a real boy.” Hiking her backpack up on her shoulder, she looked him up and down once more and headed past him, patting his cheek and making him flinch away. “Bitchface looks way better on you than that touchy-feely crap.”

The door to the stairwell opened and shut behind her, and Kurt stood blinking, wondering what on earth had just happened, until the bell rang. At which point he jerked, swore, and booked it to class at a dead sprint.

-

_> > **Blaine:** You are by far the most not-terrible person I know and I love you and I’m really sorry my phone was off D: I just really don’t think Mr. Ivers is kidding when he says the owners of ringing phones will go to the gallows..._

_> > **You:** It wouldn’t surprise me. He always did have a look about him._

_> > **Blaine:** Everything ok?_

_> > **You:** Finn hates me forever, Puck is a brat, and I got a tardy slip in 1st period because Puck’s girlfriend dragged me into a stairwell and compared me to Edward Cullen._

_> > **You:** How was your morning?_

_> > **Blaine:** Wow_

_> > **Blaine:** I was really excited that I got 2 prizes in my cracker jacks just now..._

_> > **You:** Of course you were. :P_

_> > **Blaine:** It was like a Christmas miracle!! :D If you’re Edward, who’s Bella? Do I need to have a talk with her?_

_> > **You:** In this warped analogy, I have a sneaking suspicion that Bella is fifteen months old, so good luck with that...and this just got creepy. Ew. I assure you the love is purely parental. Or non-creepy uncle-ish, or...something._

_> > **Blaine:** Awwwww, you love her  <3_

_> > **You:** Shh. It can’t be known that there’s a child I actually approve of. I have a reputation to protect._

_> > **Blaine:** Kids are the best though!! :D She sounds so adorable too. You get to see her again this week, right? Jealous~_

_> > **You:** I do. First, though, I’m due for a talk with Rachel. Gaga help us all..._

_> > **Blaine:** You can do it. I have faith in you, young Skywalker.  <3_

_> > **You:** You know I don’t watch Star Trek._

_> > **Blaine:** NOOOOOOOOOO_

-

The good news, come twelve o’clock, was that on the way to the cafeteria, Kurt got a text from Puck saying that Lauren wanted him to meet her over lunch time to talk. ( _ **Puck:** srsly wtf did u say to her??_ )

The bad news was that between Tina disappearing to rehearse her song for glee club over the lunch period, Artie getting kidnapped by the AV club to diffuse a DVD-RW crisis, and Mike sheepishly explaining that he was working on his application to Juilliard over lunch periods this week so his parents wouldn’t find out, Kurt found himself picking quietly at his salad at a table that was empty but for Dave, intently studying his French fries two seats away.

 _Baby steps, indeed,_ he thought with mental roll of the eyes.

“...You know you don’t have to be here,” Kurt murmured after the third blatant stare from a passerby. “I know it’s different if it’s just me. Don’t feel obligated, or--”

“M’not obligated.”

“Just, it’s okay if you’d rather sit with your friends. And, um, Azimio has been staring since you sat down and it’s mildly unsettling.”

For the first time since sitting down, Dave glanced up. “You want me to scram? ‘Cause I can--”

“No,” Kurt said quickly, and for goodness’ sake. “I...I appreciate it. I do.” Dave seemed to fight the urge to drop his eyes back down again, and Kurt offered him a small smile, surprising himself with the real fondness behind it. “You’re a lot braver than I gave you credit for, Mr. Karofsky.”

Dave did look down again this time, almost hiding a pleased little grin. “I’m not brave. Just kind of done giving a shit.”

“It could be argued that the two are one and the same.” Kurt paused to take another bite. “Or at least that one begets the other.”

Dave grunted something like agreement. “Guess.” He finally started on his fries, three at a time. “Still getting shit from the others, huh?”

It was only appreciation of Dave’s concern that kept Kurt from giving him an impromptu lesson on the concept of chew-swallow- _then_ -speak, a lecture he’d given Finn at the dinner table more than once. Instead, he swallowed another bite and shook his head. “I am a pariah. Also a liar, an accomplice to evil, a mother-stealer, a failure as a stepbrother, and let’s not forget a reputation-ruiner. Though that one everyone already knew.”

Dave whistled low. “Hell of a résumé.”

Kurt huffed a laugh that, he was pleased to note, was only a little bit bitter. “Indeed. Maybe the mafia will take me. Or perhaps the politicians.”

“You'd be scary as hell.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

Dave chuckled silently, attacking another handful of fries, and Kurt grinned a little in spite of himself, shaking his head. In the corner of his eye, Azimio was still eying them, but Kurt decided that being ‘done giving a shit’ might not be a bad idea. Let him stare. “I hope you realize those things will kill you.”

“Be better than starving to death,” Dave snorted, looking pointedly at Kurt’s salad. “You ask me, _that_ rabbit food’s why you’re miserable.”

“I am not _miserable_. Just...inconvenienced.” Dave arched an eyebrow at him, and he let out his breath, stabbing at a last bit of lettuce. “Possibly resentful. Irascible, perhaps.” Stab, chew, swallow. “Querulous.”

“Pissed the fuck off?”

“Maybe.”

“See, if you were eating _real_ food, you’d at least have one thing going on that doesn’t suck.”

“I’ll have you know that in this bowl is my entire daily value of Vitamin A.”

“They made these fresh, you know.”

“Stop that,” Kurt snapped, glaring at Dave’s tentative smirk. “Sue Sylvester’s training is not easily overcome. And those things are horrible for the complexion.”

“Still hot and everything.” Dave took another bite. “Extra crispy.”

“ _Hey._ ” Kurt pointed his spork at Dave in a warning. “First of all, emotional eating is a number one cause of adolescent obesity, and I do not appreciate your peer pressure, David Karofsky. Secondly, my ire and woe are wholly justified. I’m apparently a home-wrecker, you know. My so-called best friend agreed to talk about how she _tried to break me up with my boyfriend_ and I’ve heard nothing since, my stepbrother told me, in so many words, that I am a sneaky and horrible human being, the only _really good_ days I’ve had in the last three weeks were literally one hundred miles away from here, and...oh, give me one of those.”

Dave wordlessly pushed the fry basket into the empty space between them, not even trying to hide the smirk this time, and Kurt couldn’t suppress the blissful groan that rose up from his core the second he crunched into a fry, his eyes fluttering for a second. He’d forgotten the part where emotional eating was also _wonderful_.

“...You two gonna need some privacy?” Dave asked, lifting an eyebrow, and Kurt opened his eyes again for the sole purpose of rolling them.

“We will not discuss this. And don’t you dare stop eating. I cannot have this entire basket at my disposal, or disasters beyond your imagination will occur.”

Dave still looked a heartbeat away from laughing at him, but obediently took a few more fries for himself. “Hudson doesn’t hate you, you know.”

“You didn’t drive him to school this morning. Trust me, he does.”

Dave swallowed and reached for some more, and Kurt didn’t miss how carefully Dave seemed to be timing it, so their hands would never bump. “Whatever. You weren’t in seventh period gym last Wednesday.”

Kurt’s eyebrows went up in spite of everything, but before he could press for details, two things happened in quick succession: something dropped in front of his face out of nowhere and landed in front of his tray, nearly scaring him out of his skin and making him practically inhale his fry; and someone--presumably the perpetrator--clapped him on the shoulder before vanishing into the crowd.

He looked up just in time to catch an unmistakable mop of (still _definitely_ dyed, though to his credit more skillfully this year) blond hair weaving its way through the tables toward the counter. _What in the world?_

“What was that about?” Dave asked as Kurt shook that moment off and turned to inspect Sam’s delivery.

It was a note, folded every which way as though someone had tried to make an elaborate paper airplane, failed miserably, and ultimately given up and folded it in fours. Kurt frowned, glancing across the cafeteria at Sam and back. “I have no idea.”

Warily, he unfolded the note and began to read.

_Hey Kurt_

_So I know you're probably mad at me for not getting behind you and Puck around the others. I totally get it, and I'm sorry. I think this might be what being totally whipped by a gorgeous girl feels like. It's sort of helping me understand Finn better, actually._

_I don't have long because Cedes is running through her glee song with Tina and they’ll be done in like 5 minutes, but here's what's going on. She's mad because you asked to talk to her and then bailed for four days and posted all these facebook statuses about how awesome your Dalton friends are. So she kinda thinks you don’t really want to make up. She felt super bad about calling up Blaine like five minutes after she did it, but you know. That's kind of how she works. She's really tired of being in a fight, though. But don't tell her I told you because, yeah. Whipped._

_Anyway, she's super relieved you and Blaine are okay and feels like a total jerk for helping Santana screw with your life and stuff, and I think she's gonna call you tonight. But she's still a little pissed, too. So. Use the Force._

_See you in glee_

_-the inside man_

Kurt skimmed the note one more time, then set it facedown on the table. "My God, he thinks he's an international spy..." He shook his head. "Okay, hold on, you’re a so-called ‘guy’s guy’ so I assume you know these things. Blaine won't stop crying about this, so I need to know once and for all. Star Trek and Star Wars. Which one has the light-sword-things and which one has George Takei?"

But when he looked up, Dave definitely wasn’t looking at him. He seemed to be far more interested in watching Sam’s retreating back. Among other things.

Kurt’s mouth dropped open and immediately started to curve up. Well, _well_.

Dave’s eyes oh-so-subtly lingered until Sam was out the door, and Kurt leaned toward him with his chin in his hand, not even trying not to look smug. When Dave’s gaze finally dropped, Kurt pointedly cleared his throat. Dave turned, still distracted, then jumped when he ran right into Kurt’s knowing grin. He flushed red at record speed and gaped for a second, looking for all the world like he’d just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Uh...I wasn’t, I mean--”

“Oh, I don’t blame you,” Kurt said, looking wistfully toward the door. “I’ve been eying that masterpiece of male posterior since the day he set foot in glee club.”

“Dude, shut _up_ ,” Dave hissed, but his red face was fighting a laugh now, and Kurt’s job was done.

“So,” Kurt said, re-folding the note and pocketing it to deal with later, “you were trying to convince me that Finn isn’t about to send me stepbrother-divorce papers anytime in the near future, as evidenced by last week’s...gym class?”

“Mm. Yeah,” Dave said through another mouthful of fries, and Kurt made a face. A lifted middle finger was all he got in reply, though Dave did obediently swallow before continuing. “Don’t get too excited. We didn’t hug and cry or anything.”

“All my locker-room fantasies, dashed. Woe.”

“Ha-de freakin’ ha. I just mean it wasn’t a huge thing. But after gym on Wednesday, after everyone’d cleared out, Hudson cornered me in the locker room and went all security-detail on me.”

“Oh, _my_.”

Dave just shot him a look before going on, “I guess he thought I wouldn’t be hanging around you last week unless I was doing it to mess with you, or something. Pretty much told me my ass is grass if I do anything like...last year.” He lowered his eyes to the table, his voice quieting. “Said if he saw one more bruise on you, he’d get me expelled, then thrown in jail.”

Kurt stared, caught between swelling with love for Finn and aching at the guilt hunching Dave’s shoulders.

After a moment, he plucked another fry from the nearly-empty basket and said, “I doubt he could actually get you sent to prison. He’s terrible under pressure. Testifying in court? Moose in headlights.” When the attempt at humor fell flat, he sighed. “More importantly, it doesn’t matter, because he was wrong about you. However well-intentioned and selfless his attempts at threatening you might have been.” Only hesitating a second, he bumped Dave’s leg with his foot, at least getting him to tear his eyes away from the table. “He’s _wrong_.”

Dave looked for a moment like he was going to argue, but seemed to rethink it and closed his mouth. Shook his head. “So that’s why it’s weird to me that he’s still pissed at you. ‘Cause he definitely doesn’t hate you.”

Kurt sighed, letting Dave finish off the last of the fries. “So it would seem.”

The bell rang then, and Kurt offered Dave a small smile as he got up, turned around--

\--and came face-to-face with Azimio.

Kurt flinched back in spite of himself, his senses immediately going on alert--escape paths behind him and to the right, lunch tray could block a punch or a slushie, always a teacher _somewhere_ in the cafeteria--but then the panic-moment passed, and all Azimio had done was...nothing.

He just looked Kurt up and down, eyes at a squint, before frowning over his shoulder in Dave’s direction. Neither of them said anything, and Kurt took the opportunity to get a little distance, keeping one eye on Azimio (just in case) while sidestepping out of his space, a bit closer to Dave (also just in case). Glancing up, he found an expression on Dave that he hadn’t seen in a while, tight-jawed and hard-eyed, and glancing between them, Kurt had to wonder whether this was a stare-down or just the way bulked-up jocks communicated.

A few more awkward seconds, and Dave finally mumbled, “Come on.” A glance told Kurt that it was definitely directed at him, not Azimio, and there wasn’t much to be done but obey.

“So...” Kurt began after an appropriate number of footsteps away from Azimio, “I take it he hasn’t been feeling terribly supportive of your progress this year?”

Dave shrugged, still frowning at the floor. “Not really. Mostly haven’t told him. He hasn’t asked.” He shrugged again. “That’s that.”

Kurt paused. “So you guys are just...done?”

“Guess. Figure he barely noticed when I stopped telling him shit last summer. He wants to get pissed now for no freaking reason, it’s not my problem.”

Kurt didn’t miss the twinge of hurt in Dave’s voice, and he silently pushed down the echoes of _You drag people down, you get people harassed, you make people lose friends_ that had nearly immobilized him in the bathroom with Puck on the first day of school. Instead, he glanced back at Azimio--gone from that spot and done staring, now just scowling at nothing in particular while Strando talked at him--and bit his lip. This was probably a terrible idea.

“...I have a thought,” he said anyway as they reached the counter, and Dave looked up. Tentatively, Kurt went on, “I think, maybe--and this is _not_ me saying you should return to your old ways to repair your friendship, by any means--but maybe the reason he’s upset is that you've been making these changes, working out your business, and leaving him out of it." Stacking his empty tray, Kurt leaned on the counter to wait. "It probably seems much more abrupt if he's only seeing the results without seeing the process."

"Well, yeah," Dave said after a moment, his voice low. "Not like I could just _tell_ him."

His eyes stayed on his tray, and Kurt nodded, thinking of Mercedes outside his locker after smashing his windshield, of his dad's face after the football game he'd won. "I know."

Dave stacked the tray and went with Kurt out to the hall, trailing after him with a Bully-Whips glint in his eye while Kurt strode past his own locker, finally slowing to a stop next to Rachel’s. They stood there for a beat, and then Dave asked with a frown, “You switch lockers or something?”

Kurt spent exactly one second being impressed with Dave’s attention to detail before the slam of another locker door made him flinch, reminding him of the very specific reason Dave already knew where his locker was. He blinked the thought away. “No. Just waiting for someone. You’re welcome to go ahead if you don’t want to--”

“Quit doing that.” Dave leaned back against the next locker over, not seeming to notice he was pinning his hands under his arms again. “So...you think I should tell him?”

His expression was so wary, but so strangely trusting, that it broke Kurt’s heart a little. He lowered his eyes, thinking carefully before speaking. “I think...I think you should do what _you_ are ready to do. If that means reflecting on how the two of you related to and bonded with each other and maybe making a change, so be it. If it means simply explaining to him that you’re evolving and he’s welcome to join you in doing so, that’s fine, too. But we both know, better than any other guy in this school, that the rest of it? It’s as personal as it gets. Who you tell, and when, and how, is your decision to make, and no one else’s.” Ducking his eyes, he added with a rueful smile, “Not even the most singular junior prom queen in McKinley history.”

Dave exhaled fast and seemed to think about commenting, but again decide against it. Instead, he said, “How are you doing it?”

Kurt blinked. “Doing what?”

“Getting your shit sorted out with your friends,” Dave said. “You know, since you’re kind of in the same situation.”

“What?” Kurt frowned, then shook his head. “No, no. _Your_ situation is about deciding whether you want to keep a friend who may not be okay with some very personal realizations and choices you’ve made. _My_ situation...”

He paused. Repeated the statement in his head.

Well, crap.

“...is exactly the same.”

Dave snorted a laugh, and Kurt couldn’t even find it in him to be annoyed. His conversation with Finn from that morning was flooding its way back through his mind, but now all of it--the distance, the hurt, the insistence that it wasn’t about Beth but _him_ \--clicked into place like it had just been waiting for a final nudge. “Huh.”

Dave was lifting an eyebrow at him when he broke from his reverie, and Kurt shook his head. “Sorry. Where were--”

“Kurt?”

Kurt looked up, then closed his mouth. Looking warily between him and Dave, tightening her arms around her books (but at least blocking his view of what he was ninety percent certain was a _duck sweater_ ), was Rachel.

Kurt pulled in a breath, automatically straightening his shoulders. Right--the reason he was waiting here.

Glancing back to Dave, he offered a small, apologetic smile. “To be continued. I’ll be on Facebook tonight.”

Looking from Kurt to Rachel and back, Dave nodded and pushed away from the locker. “Cool. Later.”

Once he’d gone, Kurt stepped out of the way of Rachel’s locker to at least let her into it, and drew breath for the speech he’d prepared precisely for this conversation. But before he could get a word out, Rachel stepped forward and said, “Kurt, wait.” She put away her books, only taking a second to straighten them on the shelf, and closed the locker.

“I have something to say.”

Kurt let out the breath he’d taken, trying not to be too thrown off. “...By all means.”

Rachel pressed her hands together and cleared her throat, as though preparing for a monologue (not that any of that was terribly surprising), and looked him in the eye.

“After my weekly family meeting with my dads to discuss my emotional health and well-being,” she said, “I’ve realized that this silent treatment is overly dramatic and not at all conducive to a harmonious performing environment in glee club. I’m not helping the team by choosing sides.”

She straightened up to her full tiny height and lifted her chin while Kurt lifted his eyebrows, honestly impressed.

“So I’ve decided to forgive you,” she said.

Kurt blinked. His eyebrows lowered again.

“...Beg pardon?”

“I forgive you,” she said with a serene smile. “I understand that you and I both have the capacity for self-absorption, and I realize that just because I’ve made phenomenal progress over the last two years, not everyone can develop at the same pace. And I know firsthand how convincing Noah can be. I spent a whole week of sophomore year _dating_ him, after all.”

She shook her head with a little silly-me huff, and Kurt stared.

“So,” she said, “I hereby forgive you for letting Noah talk you into disregarding my feelings, and in the interest of avoiding further tension in glee club, all I ask in return is that you put an end to your insensitive and frankly unnecessary contact with my mother.” She held out her hand, looking extremely proud of herself. “Agreed?”

Kurt stared at her hand, blinked rapidly a few times, and then lifted his gaze back to her waiting face. Something was brewing in him, something old and worn, something like _Defying Gravity_ in a choir room, and between that and the images flashing through his mind of Puck’s face the first time he saw Beth, and Shelby telling him not to listen to anyone who thought he had anything less than a _gift_ for the thing he loved, and the tiny head of dark hair resting on his shoulder, it was all he could do to tamp the feeling down. In its place, he took a deep, calming breath, took his own advice, and made a choice.

“I didn’t apologize.”

Rachel’s smile faltered. “What?”

“I didn’t apologize,” Kurt repeated, levelly meeting her gaze. “I was going to. For hurting your feelings, and for exacerbating the abandonment complex you so thinly disguise as motivation.” He paused only to breathe again, ignoring her affronted gasp. “But I’m not sorry for meeting Shelby, because she’s a lovely woman who is very much in charge of who she talks to. I’m not sorry for helping Noah, because I’ve believed in what he’s doing from the moment that I chose to help him, and for that, neither he nor I are in the wrong.” He lifted his chin because that was truer than he’d imagined it could be. “And we’re going over to see Beth again this week.”

If his gaze had hardened, and if his voice had gone cold, it was only matching her pace. Rachel’s face had gone sharp, gotten that flare of self-righteousness that was hers and hers alone. She crossed her arms. Kurt didn’t take it farther, didn’t look down his nose at her or scoff, because all he had for her was the truth.

The bell rang, and Kurt abruptly noticed that the hallway around them had emptied.

The very picture of martyrdom, Rachel archly said, “Fine. Since you clearly would prefer to reject my olive branch and leave the club divided, so be it.”

“What I would prefer is to be _heard_ ,” Kurt said. “I would love to end this standoff, Rachel. But I’m not going to do it through a lie.”

For just a second, Rachel’s face flashed with hurt, and it made Kurt’s stomach twist uncomfortably. But then the hurt was gone, and he was narrowly avoiding being hit in the face with her hair as she whirled around on her heel and stormed off.

He leaned back against her locker and sighed, digging his fingers into his hair, before groaning and hurrying down the hall to pick up Tardy Slip Number Two.

-

_> > **You:** Rachel is delusional, Finn is thoroughly conflicted, and I think Karofsky and I just bonded over French fries and Sam’s posterior._

_> > **Blaine:** Should...more than one of those surprise me? Wait, why were you talking about Sam’s posterior?_

_> > **You:** Also, I’ve had an epiphany, and I’m considering kidnapping Finn again in the near future. Fyi._

_> > **Blaine:** Should I be worried? If we get in a fight, am I going to wake up in the back of a van somewhere? D:_

_> > **You:** Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t be caught dead in a van. I have standards._

_> > **Blaine:** Of course, how silly of me._

_> > **You:** Besides, it got Finn to talk this morning. If he doesn’t come around this time, maybe the Stockholm Syndrome will do the trick._

_> > **Blaine:** You’re so sweet._

_> > **You:** And how. ;)_

_> > **Blaine:** ….Seriously, why were you talking about Sam’s butt?? :(_

_> > **You:** Don’t worry, sweetie. There’s only one butt for me, and it hails from the magical land of Westerville._

_> > **Blaine:** Thad does have a pretty good one..._

_> > **You:** I beg your pardon?_

_> > **Blaine:** LOL  <3 Yours is much nicer._

_> > **You:** Well, naturally. (Damn. I miss yours now.)_

_> > **Blaine:** Aww, see? Too sweet for your own good. :P_

_> > **You:** Oh, shush._

-

Along with lunch hour, glee club turned out to be one of the only bright spots in a day that was generally disappointing. Mr. Schuester had seemed decidedly wary about the performances after the Quinn and Puck debacles of the previous week, and Kurt certainly didn’t blame him (even if Puck’s mood seemed to have improved tenfold, as evidenced by his plopping down in the back row with an arm around Lauren and bouncing a ball of paper off Kurt’s head that said in giant letters--randomly, next to a crudely scribbled dinosaur-- _I OWE U_ ).

What he didn’t expect was for Sam’s hand to shoot up first, and for him to take the floor with his guitar while Finn sat down at the trapset and _Puck_ took up the background guitar, even Mike grabbing a tambourine, and for the group of them to launch straight into [_Accidentally In Love_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dh2ZPPnSNWI). It was so unexpectedly happy that a surprised laugh actually bubbled out under Kurt’s breath, and in time even Quinn was dancing in her chair with Brittany and Santana across the room. Sam was shamelessly charming, winking at Mercedes and actually taking her hand when the beat slowed to half-time. She beamed and hid behind her hand, and in spite of everything, Kurt found himself smiling for her from two rows behind. Even if they were fighting, it was about time she got to feel this, too.

He was less surprised when she and Tina got up to take Sam’s place and continued the theme, but as soon as the band played the first bars of [_Ain’t No Other Man_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OstHzcY7DPE), Kurt understood why they would have wanted to get in as much practice as possible--they were flawless, gorgeous, and from the looks on Sam and Mike’s faces, he wasn’t the only one who thought so. And after that back-to-back lovefest, Artie’s cheerfully defiant [_Ridin’ Solo_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-0istwqfX3c), flanked by Mike and Puck in matching shades, just made everyone cheer--everyone, Kurt to Finn to Quinn, and that felt so good that it made him ache a little.

It almost felt normal. Almost like before.

That feeling, more than anything else, was what cemented the idea in Kurt’s mind and had him flagging down Puck before he could leave with Lauren.

“I have a proposition for you.”

He didn’t know whether he was more surprised that Puck actually agreed to it, or that he then actually offered to _help_.

The conversation had been short, because they couldn’t plan much without Shelby’s permission, which meant that Puck--after _offering_ , which just made Kurt smile with the memory of how timid he’d been about contacting Shelby the first time--had a call to make. So they parted ways with a fist-bump that felt disturbingly natural now, and Kurt headed home. He spent way too long on Facebook, exchanging silly emoticons with Blaine while chatting with Dave for a long, long time about friends, not-friends, taking risks, coming out, and basically everything he’d talked about with Blaine in the early stages of their friendship.

It felt good, a little cathartic, and he got so wrapped up that it wasn’t until his dad called him down for dinner that he remembered the folded-up note in his pocket and wondered.

Finn didn’t even make eye contact during dinner, but Kurt busied himself with chattering about classes and glee club performances, about Mike and secret Juilliard applications and how they should really get on the college-visit bandwagon soon, and let Finn have his silence. Kurt had taken the cold shoulder for this long; he could handle it a little bit longer.

Once back in his room, he pulled out the note again and reread it, really paying attention now that he wasn’t thrown off by Sam’s attempt at stealth or distracted by Dave and his wonderful, horrible French fries.

Looking at the note again, he wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it. Some parts he understood--looking back, it probably wasn’t the wisest move to disappear to Westerville without touching base with her, and he somehow felt it wouldn’t help much to admit that not once had it crossed his mind.

But some things just didn’t make sense. Things like _Mercedes being angry in the first place_. As much as he wracked his brain, he couldn’t come up with a good reason that she would take all this so personally. He knew she and Quinn had gotten close during Quinn’s pregnancy, and he knew Mercedes had always had strong opinions about Quinn’s rights and strong suspicions about Puck throughout. But if helping Puck made him a traitor, wouldn’t taking Quinn’s side make Mercedes just as guilty?

Sighing, Kurt set the note aside, shot off a quick response to Puck’s text that Shelby was in on the plan, and pulled out his homework. He could be patient. That’s who he was these days, Mr. Patient. He could wait for Mercedes to approach him like Sam said she would, and he could listen while she told him what she thought he’d done wrong, and he could respond calmly and diplomatically to each erroneous accusation.

Patient, patient, patient. Yep. That was him.

When his phone blared Beyoncé, he dove for it so fast that his textbook slipped off his lap and thumped to the floor.

Once it was in his hand, he stared at Mercedes’ photo on the screen, took a moment to center himself, and hit _Talk_.

“Hello, Mercedes.”

“Hey,” she said, and it was quiet, like the day after a fateful car wash their sophomore year, though not nearly as timid. “Are you busy?”

“It happens that I’m not.”

“You sure? ‘Cause I don’t want to interrupt any last-minute trips to _Westerville_ or anything.”

Oh, yeah. Timid was most definitely not the word.

Kurt rubbed at the bridge of his nose, breathing slowly in and out. Patience. “You’re right. I will be the first to admit that was bad form. I apologize for not letting you know.” And he almost left it there, but he couldn’t quite help but add, “Though, to be fair, I had been fairly certain until Blaine showed up that he was going to break up with me, as a result of certain phone calls he’d recently received. So you’ll understand if I got distracted.”

Mercedes let out her breath in his ear, and for some reason that bothered him more than it should have. “Look, Kurt--”

“I mean...” Okay. Maybe a little less patience than he’d thought. “...I think we need to discuss that, because I’m honestly scratching my head over how to interpret that rock through my metaphorical windshield. Was that phone call an honest attempt to break us up? Because if it was--”

“Kurt, you know I wouldn’t do that--”

“No,” Kurt said, only fully grasping the words as they came out of his mouth, each one quieter than the last. “Lately...I _don’t_ know that.” He lowered his eyes to his half-finished worksheet while she sighed in his ear. “I really don’t like that I don’t know that.”

“Look, I was just upset,” she said, and his frown deepened. “I know that was bad, and I feel awful, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Upset about _what?_ This had nothing to do--”

“With me?” she finished for him, her voice dropping flat and low. “Well, tell me what else is new.”

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“That you shut me out, Kurt!” she snapped back. “ _Again!_ ”

“What are you talking about?”

She didn’t answer right away, and for a second he couldn’t even hear her breath. “You know, I understood it when it was just about Blaine. He’s your first boyfriend, you’re perfect for each other, so it made sense that you’d get a little obsessed. But _Puck?_ ”

“What about him?” Kurt asked tightly, grasping desperately for the calm he’d had before. _Patience_ , damnit.

“You guys weren’t even _friends_ ,” she said, and Kurt bit his tongue, because at the beginning of the summer that had kind of been true. He silently promised himself he wouldn’t interrupt. “And he was _still_ a good enough reason to blow me off. We used to _tell_ each other things. Big things. But ever since last year, you barely give me the time of day. And I took it. I figured, why make a big deal about it? We’d bounce back. We’d be okay. But we haven’t.”

“Last year,” Kurt repeated, something dangerous roiling inside him, a feeling he’d almost forgotten. “ _Last year_ , I--”

He stopped. Closed his eyes, took a breath, and let all the ways he could end that sentence play out harmlessly in his head. _Last year, I nearly lost my entire world, and when I needed a friend, you gave me a sermon. Last year, I was physically abused_ every day _and could barely concentrate in class, much less anywhere else. Last year, I fell in love. Last year, I was sexually harassed and threatened until I was afraid for my_ life _. Last year, I said goodbye to my mother all over again. Last **year**..._

“Look,” he said, and he squeezed his hands together and pretended one of them was Blaine’s. Inhale, exhale. Find that calm again. “Is that why you took this so personally? Because you thought I was hiding things from you on purpose?”

“You were, weren’t you?”

“Mercedes, it wasn’t just _you_. Puck asked me to--”

“Since when does it matter what _Puck_ asks you to do? I don’t get when this happened!”

“Since he _trusted_ me!” Kurt shot back, then winced, because that was louder than he’d intended. He lowered his voice and tried not to let it turn into a hiss. “This _happened_ when Puck dragged me out of bed at four in the morning to ask for my help to see the child he only got to know for thirty minutes before she was taken away, because he _trusted_ me. Whatever his issues are with Quinn? _Their_ business. Not mine. Certainly not yours.”

“It _is_ our business because they’re our _friends_. And what Puck did was _wrong_.”

“Lying to Quinn about his end of the adoption contract was wrong. Fine. But I daresay that Quinn trying to force him out of his daughter’s life just because that’s what _she_ was doing, definitely wasn’t _right_.”

“He _got her drunk_ and _got her pregnant_. _She_ had to carry that baby for nine months, _she_ had to go through having that baby and giving her up. If she wants Puck to stay away, he needs to _stay the hell away_.”

Kurt gaped, honestly unable to make words for a second. “Are we actually arguing about this right now?”

“ _Are_ we?” Mercedes shot back. “I can’t believe you would take Puck’s side on this. Did you just forget everything he did?”

“What does that have to do with anything? Quinn hasn’t been perfect, either, but that doesn’t mean--”

“It’s not the same, and you know it. Puck’s just not--”

“What?”

Mercedes paused for a long moment, and Kurt made his free hand unclench, made himself breathe.

“What?” he repeated, softer, when she took too long. “Not good enough? Not _responsible_ enough? Not--”

“Not _ready_ ,” Mercedes said. “Neither of them were. Neither of them _are_.”

“And you think you’re the one who gets to judge that?” Heat was curling in his belly, just like when he’d snapped at Lauren before, just like when he’d been telling Blaine how wrong all of them had been. “You’re not. In fact, I daresay you don’t know the first _thing_ about--”

“I _lived_ with Quinn during her last trimester. Trust me, I know--”

“And I’ve _seen_ Puck. Trust _me_ , you _don’t_ know.” Kurt took a shaky breath. “You have no idea what I’ve seen, Mercedes. You have no idea what _happens_ to him when he’s with Beth. And until you do, you won’t _know_ the first thing about what he’s ready for.”

Mercedes went silent again, and it wasn’t a good silence. After giving himself a moment, Kurt spoke again at half-voice, slowly, as it dawned on him how this argument was different from others they’d had. This reminded him far too much of the fight they might have had, but didn’t have, the week his father was in the hospital. “...We’re not going to agree on this.”

Her voice was cold in his ear. “Guess not.”

Kurt stretched his thumb and forefinger across his eyes as his head started to pound. “What exactly is it that you want from me here, Mercedes?”

Quietly, she sighed. “At this point? I don’t even know anymore.”

Kurt lowered his eyes. “Well. When you figure it out, come find me. I’ll be here. But be aware that barring any crises in the near future, chances are Puck will be there, too.” A beat with no reply, and he couldn’t help it. “You and Tina were amazing today.”

Softly, tiredly, “Thanks.”

A few more stretched seconds, and Kurt sighed. “Well.”

“Yeah.”

One more breath, and the line clicked into silence.

-

_> > **You:** So I’m now zero for three because no one is mad at me for the reasons they’re supposed to be mad at me and it’s very confusing and upsetting and I am so done with this._

_> > **Blaine:** Wow. I’m sorry things aren’t working out :( Anything I can do?_

_> > **You:** Come take me back to Westerville so I can hide amongst the harmonies until this mess blows over?_

_> > **Blaine:** Aw. I would, but we can’t Apparate from school grounds. :(_

_> > **You:** Of course you just turned my despair into a Harry Potter reference. Of course you did._

_> > **Blaine:** Pish tosh. You love my HP references.  <3_

_> > **You:** I miss you._

_> > **Blaine:** I miss you too. I mean it, what can I do?_

_> > **You:** Call and sing me something?_

_> > **Blaine:** Your phone is ringing in 3...2...1_

-

Tuesday passed in a blur of planning, pleading, and calling in favors, and when the clock struck 4:01 on Wednesday afternoon, it was go-time.

He’d planned it--in his personal opinion--beautifully, taking into account every detail and going over it in his head nonstop in glee club while sitting through Brittany’s encore performance of [_My Cup_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jVhsAUi387I). To which she had added fifteen more verses.

(It was only Santana’s murderous glare that kept the room quiet, though Artie’s lips were twitching so hard as he sang the harmonies that he almost lost it, along with anyone who happened a glance at him.)

Sam was the one to accompany them on the guitar this time, and no one but Mr. Schuester commented about Puck being mysteriously absent.

Kurt, of course, had remained silent on the matter. As well as on Mercedes’s frowning claim that she had spotted him in the parking lot after seventh period, getting in the passenger side of Dave Karofsky’s truck.

He’d gotten a couple of curious looks at that one--and he still wasn’t quite over the idea that _he_ was now the primary source of inside information about both Noah Puckerman _and_ Dave Karofsky--but had only met them with a nonchalant shrug, waiting a few minutes before subtly texting a _Thanks again_ to Dave.

All according to plan.

Well, Brittany’s one-woman vocal marathon wasn’t part of the plan, but it was convenient. By the time she’d finished, and Mr. Schuester (looking sort of like he’d run a marathon himself) asked what significance that song had for her summer break (“In the summer, it’s hot, so you drink lemonade. What do you drink it in?--A cup.”), there was only time for one more performance, and that was just as well. The longer they could put off the song he’d heard Finn practicing in his room last week, the better.

Also not part of the plan, but also convenient, was that Mike was the first volunteer to go next, introducing his song by explaining the sheer number of college visits, ACT prep courses, and university applications he’d been subjected to by his parents all summer. The convenient part was that between the silliness of the song and the dance moves he paired with it, the whole room was roaring with laughter and cheers by the time he was done. And good moods all around could really only help.

The rest of it, though, he had engineered to the last detail. This weekend he would be treating Tina and Mike at Breadstix as a thank-you for being the sacrificial lambs today, charged with the mission of distracting Rachel--something he knew exactly how to do, though it wouldn’t be pretty. But they took it on with minimal complaining, and Tina really was a lovely actress. When she told Rachel how much she’d appreciate hearing some _very detailed_ descriptions of some of her ideas for Sectionals this year, Kurt almost believed her himself.

If the way Rachel lit up was any indication, Kurt was going to be cheerfully ordering Tina and Mike the two most decadent dinners on the menu.

In the meantime, Artie had the tricky job of getting Finn to the parking lot _without_ Rachel, but he’d scoffed when Kurt had asked if he was up to the challenge. (“ _Please_ , yo. This chair comes with a lifetime supply of pity-points. Just say where. I’ll get him there.”)

The third leg of the plan--and Kurt was admittedly both proud and ashamed of this--was taken care of before glee club had even begun. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know exactly _how_ Puck pulled it off, as he generally wasn’t sure he wanted to know how Puck did most things, but either way, he did it: as promised, when Kurt opened his locker after seventh period, sitting on the top shelf were Finn’s car keys.

(He immediately decided not to think about how much practice Puck seemed to have at breaking into his locker.)

He felt a little bad for the theft element of the plan, but as Finn seemed to no longer want anything to do with him after their first conversation, it really was the only way. And either way, by the end of glee club, Finn still hadn’t seemed to notice the keys were gone. So once Mr. Schuester had let them go with the reminder that the last remaining performances for the assignment would be from Lauren, Finn, Kurt, and Santana, Kurt had remained in the choir room just long enough to ensure that all the pieces were in place--Rachel bustling to her seat to pull out her Brilliance Notebook to show Tina and Mike, Artie rolling up next to Finn while Sam kept one eye on him, ready to be Plan B if needed, good--before turning on his heel and heading out to his car.

The rain that had been steadily falling all day seemed to finally be letting up a little, and Kurt let out his breath once he was safely in the driver’s seat, wondering for a moment if he was a little insane for doing this.

But he didn’t have much time to think on it, because hardly two minutes had passed before Finn appeared at the school doors and began wheeling Artie in his direction.

Okay. Moment of truth.

As soon as Finn and Artie were close enough, Kurt rolled down the passenger-side window, just in time to hear Finn asking Artie what exactly they were doing out here. Taking a deep breath, Kurt called through the open window, “I believe I have the answer to that.”

Finn looked up, and his face immediately went flat. He let go of Artie’s wheelchair and straightened, already starting to turn away. “Yeah, I don’t think so--”

He cut himself off when Artie rolled to a stop in front of him, blocking his path of escape. “Sorry,” Artie said with a shrug. “It’s for a good cause.”

Finn’s eyes widened, and Kurt could almost see the pieces slowly fitting together behind them. He frowned in Artie’s direction. “Dude, I don’t want to talk to him.” He whipped his head back toward Kurt. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“And fortunately for you, you don’t have to,” Kurt said, keeping his tone as calm as possible and hoping in vain that it would rub off on Finn. “But I do think you should get in.”

“This isn’t last time, Kurt. You can’t make me go with you. You messed up, and I don’t forgive you. Why’s it so hard for you to understand?”

For a second, Kurt was in his basement-bedroom at the old house, and Finn was shouting those same words at him before smashing his heart to pieces, and he had to breathe deeply for a second to remind himself where he was and who he wasn’t. “I do understand,” he said. “And it’s _because_ I understand that I’m trying just one more thing to fix it. Look, I promise that after today, I won’t do this anymore. I can’t promise that my dad or your mom won’t notice that you won’t be talking to me, but _I_ won’t do this anymore. No more big gestures.” He unlocked the doors. “So long as you open that door and get in the car.”

Finn frowned at him, then at Artie, then back. “So what happens if I don’t?”

“Well, that would be unfortunate for you, considering that these,” he lifted Finn’s keys and jingled them a little, “have recently come into my possession.”

“Dude, you _stole_ my _car keys?_ ”

“Technically, _Puck_ stole your car keys. But, in the grand scheme of things, yes. I am the puppet-master.” For a moment Finn looked like he was actually considering punching him, and it took effort to keep sounding like he wasn’t terrified that this plan would backfire. “Look, Finn, if you’re really, _really_ uncomfortable coming with me, then you can have them back. But I asked Puck to get them from you because I really think you should see what I want to show you. And once you have, then how you proceed is completely your choice.”

Finn hesitated, the glare not quite fading, and Kurt pressed, “Please let me do this, Finn. By seven o’clock tonight, you’ll have the option to go back to pretending you don’t know me, if that’s still how you feel. Just...let me try one more time.”

Looking between him and Artie one more time, Finn sighed. “What about my car?”

“I can--and will--bring you back to pick it up afterward. I already told our parents that we’d be back before eight.”

A few more seconds, and finally Finn tugged on the handle and tossed open the door. Kurt mouthed a _thank you_ to Artie as Finn slouched into his seat, and he rolled the window back up. “Thank you,” he said, this time aloud.

“What did you want to show me?” Flat, rigid, eyes straight through the windshield.

Kurt turned on the engine and shifted into Drive. “I’m taking you to it now.”

“Where?”

“Not far.”

Finn drew breath, then paused, then huffed it out, shaking his head and turning away to look out the window. Kurt kept his eyes on the road.

Finn only spoke once more, ten minutes in, to ask again where they were going. Again, Kurt told him to wait. The rest of the ride was silence, broken only by the ebbing rain and the windshield wipers, until Kurt finally pulled up on the side of the street, putting the car in Park. Finn’s frown deepened as he looked around, making no move to undo his seatbelt.

“What are we doing here?”

Kurt turned off the engine and eased back, leaving his own seatbelt on as well. “Do you know where we are?”

“I don’t care where we are.” Finn’s arms were still crossed, his posture still slouched, closed off. “Just get it over with. I’ve got homework.”

Kurt took a breath, chanting a mantra of _please work, please work, please work_ in his head, and spoke slowly. “Since the beginning of June, I’ve been coming here every Wednesday. With Puck.”

Finn squinted, then froze. He looked at the front door, and this time there was recognition in his gaze.

“I wanted to give you the choice,” Kurt went on, careful not to let his pace speed up too much with the nervousness. “Because I realized you never really got one. Not about this.” Finn’s eyes dropped back to Kurt, the stubbornness slowly being edged out by wariness. “So here it is. I’m out on a limb here, so if you’re not comfortable with this, I’ll start the car again and drive us home, and you can do your homework and just stay mad at me until you’re not anymore. I’ll deal with it, because that’s what I get for breaking your trust. But if...if you think--”

“She’s in there?”

Finn sounded small, his voice at a hush, his eyes back on the door. Kurt nodded.

“...I let Shelby know that I might be bringing you over, or I might not,” he went on when Finn didn’t say anything more. “Puck is here, too, because it’s his day with her. He skipped glee club and got a ride from Karofsky so he could have some time with her before you got here, so if you do decide you do want to go in, you’ll be able to have your own time.”

Finn was quiet for a few seconds that stretched like hours, and Kurt began to brace himself for the anger and hurt and _What’s_ wrong _with you_ that each second made him more certain he was in for.

When Finn did speak, though, it was a breath away from a whisper.

“She’s not gonna know me.”

Hope bloomed in Kurt’s chest. “Only because she hasn’t met you.” Finn’s jaw worked silently, and Kurt went on, “I know you said this wasn’t about Beth. It was about me, not letting you in. Well...this is me unlocking the door, I guess. Letting you in.” He paused, quieted. “If ‘in’ is where you want to be.”

Finn looked back at Kurt, then back to the door. He pressed his lips together. Then, silently, he unbuckled his seatbelt.

It was just starting to sprinkle again as they crossed the street and began up the walk to Shelby’s door. Nerves sparked through Kurt’s limbs, because he could only control so much of this situation, and it was so much bigger than him, and it just needed to work.

“I’m not gonna just stop being mad at you,” Finn mumbled as they climbed the steps, but he sounded less mad and more subdued, his face a little pale.

Kurt stepped up to the door ahead of Finn and rang the doorbell. “I know.”

They were silent after he pulled back, the rain falling faster around them while they waited under the overhang. After a second, Kurt could just make out footsteps from inside. He glanced up and back at Finn. “You okay?”

Finn nodded, his eyes locked on the door, his mouth shut tight.

The lock clicked, the door opened, and Shelby took one look at the downpour before stepping out of the doorframe and hastily ushering them in.

She let out her breath once the door was closed. “Looks like you two made it just in time.” Locking it, she turned around to take them in, winking a greeting at Kurt before stretching her hand out to Finn, her face warm. “You must be Finn.”

Finn nodded as he shook her hand, then cleared his throat. “Yeah. I, uh, know who you are.”

Shelby laughed. “I figured. Well, Puck’s in the living room with Beth, if you want to head in there. You guys want some tea, cocoa?”

Finn swallowed hard, looking toward the living room, where Kurt could just make out what he’d started referring to in his head as Puck’s ‘Beth-voice,’ and after watching him a second, Kurt answered for both of them, “Perhaps in a bit.”

Shelby followed Kurt’s gaze to Finn, then back, and gave a knowing nod. “Okay. Well, I’m just working on my portfolio in there, so come on in. Beth loves meeting new people.”

Kurt waited until Finn had taken a deep breath, let it out all at once, swallowed again, and taken a step, and then went with him through the door.

Puck was standing by the window when they got in, his back to them, a barely-visible tuft of dark hair poking out from over his shoulder.

“See?” he was saying, his high, soft Beth-voice in top form. “Not even scary. Just water. Lookit that--” he touched a finger to the rain-speckled glass and gasped. “Whoa! It didn’t even touch me.”

From the angle, Kurt could just see Beth’s tiny hand tentatively reach out, one finger pressing daintily to the glass, and his heart swelled.

“Got company,” Shelby said gently, and Puck looked over his shoulder, blinking like he hadn’t even heard them come in. His eyes only landed on Finn for a split-second before dropping down again, and he said something to Beth that was too quiet to hear before turning around.

Kurt held his breath.

"Hey," Puck murmured to Beth, still almost too quietly to make out, his eyes lowered to the top of her head. "Wanna go see Finn? You know he was almost gonna be your daddy?"

Finn stared.

Still not quite meeting Finn's gaze, Puck said, "She...” He stopped, cleared his throat, started again. “She got all tripped-out over the rain. Sorta tired herself out." Finally, guardedly, he lifted his eyes. "You...want to hold her?"

"I broke Rachel's nose," Finn blurted, almost on top of Puck’s last word.

Simultaneously, Kurt and Puck furrowed their brows.

Finn's eyes stayed locked on Beth, widening when she turned and studied him. "And I-I trip over myself, and stuff. I don't want to...I mean..." He swallowed, and when he spoke again, his voice was tiny. "What if I drop her?"

"You won't."

That was what Kurt had been about to say. But Puck beat him to it.

For the first time since they had turned around, Finn's gaze broke away from Beth and landed on Puck. Puck looked back, and they considered each other for a long while. Beth popped her fingers into her mouth and hummed around them, turning her big hazel eyes on Kurt, and he smiled back. He really had missed her.

As if their span of silence had been a conversation, Puck nodded a little, then beckoned Finn with a jerk of his head. "Come on."

Finn took a deep breath, then very quietly said, "Okay," and crossed to them with two slow strides. He stopped a foot short, and Puck rolled his eyes a little, but didn't say anything. He closed the distance with a step.

"Don't freak out if she grabs on. She just likes holding stuff," Puck murmured, carefully lifting Beth into Finn's arms. "Easier if your arm's under here--this way, underneath. She's heavier than she looks. Don't hold her like a football."

"I'm not..." Finn began, but then Beth curled her fingers into his shirt, and he went silent.

Beth made a small noise and leaned back to look at him again, and his eyes grew nearly as big as hers. (It wasn’t until Shelby patted Kurt’s hand that he realized he’d been squeezing hers like a vise, and he quickly loosened his grip.) Puck stepped back, watching Beth watch Finn and looking as young as Kurt had ever seen him.

In hardly a voice, Finn said, “Hey.”

Beth hummed again, then reached up to take a firm grip on Finn’s nose. “Na!”

Finn went cross-eyed, then laughed, and it was the sound of a stone wall finally, finally tumbling down.

-

In two hours, Kurt learned too many impossibly small, impossibly important things to count.

He learned that the expression Puck always wore around Beth, that look of absolute wonder, was not reserved for biological fathers.

He discovered that Finn was never, _ever_ more himself than when he was kneeling down with Beth’s foot in his lap, talking in his goofy, earnest voice about how tough shoelaces can be, then showing her how to make the bunny ears, his big, careful hands curled around her tiny ones.

He was reminded that before Beth, before glee club, before everything, Finn and Puck were friends. Best friends. The kind of friends who could exchange a five-second glance and just understand something about each other and this moment, before sitting down with the little girl who belonged to both of them and to neither of them, and just _be_.

He even learned--and really, he shouldn’t have been surprised at this sort of thing anymore--that when Puck pulled out his guitar and strummed the beginning of [_Hakuna Matata_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xB5ceAruYrI#t=1m16s), and when Finn chimed in on Pumbaa’s part, and when both of them looked expectantly at him as Simba’s part approached...well. Ultimately, he learned that if it could make Beth giggle like that, resistance was futile.

But most important of all, he learned that whether or not Beth was _his_ , Finn was hers. And that maybe, just maybe, this time Kurt had done something right.

-

_> > **You:** Hey, raincheck on phone call tonight? I believe I’m long overdue for some quality time with my stepbrother. :)_

_> > **Blaine:** :D!!! So proud of you, babe. Take your time, just call me when you can_

_> > **You:** I will. Love you, O Giver of Sage Advice.  <3_

_> > **Blaine:** Love you too, O Benevolent Kidnapper.  <3 _

-

The car ride home was quiet, but it was the best quiet Kurt had experienced in what felt like ages. Finn was relaxed, still a little awestruck, every time he glanced to the passenger side. Puck drummed along to the radio with his fists on the back of the driver seat, but only offered a self-satisfied smirk every time Kurt shot a glare into the rearview mirror.

He dropped Puck off with a reminder to call as soon as he’d talked to Shelby about his brilliant plan to keep her and Beth in Ohio--even though Puck’s original plan had been to bring it up at her house, the last-minute addition of Finn had thrown that off--and after farewells from all sides and one more long, unreadable look between Puck and Finn, he’d gone inside. Kurt rolled up the window, and then it was just him and Finn.

Before backing out of the driveway, Kurt glanced at Finn, then dug into his bag and pulled out Finn’s keys. “Here.” Finn stared at them a second before taking them, as if he’d forgotten they were gone, and Kurt offered a tentative, guilty smile. “Sorry for the minor misdemeanor theft. You’ll be back in your own car in T minus six minutes. Promise.”

Finn pocketed the keys, then shook his head. “Nah. It’s cool. I’ll just go with you tomorrow.”

Kurt swallowed hard to keep from doing something awkward like cheering or slithering right out of his seat with relief.

“Done.”

“Figure you at least owe me a ride. Y’know, for kidnapping me. Twice.”

Kurt pressed his lips together, only able to nod agreement as he pulled back out into the street and headed toward home. “There may perhaps be a grain of truth to that.”

Finn was quiet for the few minutes it took to get back into their neighborhood, and Kurt managed to restrain himself all the way until he’d pulled into the driveway. Only then did he bite his lip, glance at Finn, and ask, “So...are we okay?”

Finn studied his hands for a second, his eyes far away, before replying in half a voice, “No.”

Kurt’s heart sank. “I see.”

Then Finn’s eyes lifted. “We’re not okay. But we’re not...we’re not _not_ -okay, either. Or maybe both.” They lowered again. “I don’t know.”

Nodding a little, Kurt unlocked the doors. "I can handle that."

He reached to pop the door open, but paused when Finn blurted, "Hey." Kurt looked up, and Finn seemed to spend a lot of time getting words in order in his head before settling on a soft, "Thanks."

The corners of Kurt's mouth turned up on their own. "Anytime."

They weren't two steps inside the front door when Carole called from the other room to let them know there were leftovers in the refrigerator, and Kurt shooed Finn upstairs to his room so he could heat up two plates.

He'd just gotten the first plate in the microwave when Carole came in, then surprised him by wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Hey, sweetie."

"Well, hello," Kurt said, still feeling quiet, but offering her a small smile nonetheless.

"How are you doing?" she asked, and he almost winced at the memory of two weeks ago, when she'd witnessed his sort-of-meltdown.

His go-to 'I'm fine' was nearly past his lips when he made the mistake of actually looking at her. She looked back with a warm, knowing expression that suddenly gave him a good idea of why Finn was so terrible at lying.

"...Okay," he said instead, pausing to switch plates when the microwave beeped. "Better, anyway."

"Good." She gave him a squeeze, and it felt so _nice_ , just being taken care of for a minute, that he was dropping his head to her shoulder before he even thought about it, slowly letting out his breath. Carole didn't press for anything else, just rubbed his arm and held him up, and he didn't know if he had ever been more grateful for her.

He didn't move until the microwave beeped again, at which point he straightened up slowly, and Carole let go. "I'll bring you guys up some warm milk later. You've been driving around in all that rain."

She gently mussed his already rain-mussed hair, and he let out his breath, the smile real this time. "Thanks, Carole."

Once upstairs, he knocked on Finn's door with his elbow and called through, "Special delivery for one Phineaus J. Hudson!"

"Dude," Finn said as the door swung open, looking appalled. "You seriously can't call me that. I don't even let my _mom_ call me that." He took a plate anyway, though, seeming to forget about the name when he saw that his mom had made lasagna. "Awesome!"

Kurt hovered in the doorway for a second before clearing his throat, turning to head out. "Well. Thank you for not freaking out on me when I abducted you, and I'll leave you to your studies--"

"Could you help?"

Kurt paused and looked back, and Finn offered a tentative, lopsided smile. "...The French Revolution totally doesn't make sense when we're not talking, man."

Kurt couldn't keep himself from smiling back if he tried.

Turning around, he took a seat on the end of Finn's bed, setting his plate aside. "I keep telling you that if you would just stay awake through _Les Mis_ one time, it would all make much more sense to you..."

"Dude, that musical's super confusing, though!"

"Which is why you should ask _me_ to explain it to you instead of Rachel. I won't get caught up giving you all the reasons why I would be a shoo-in for each female role." Finn bent a leg under himself next to Kurt and handed him his History textbook, dog-eared to the right page, and Kurt set it in his lap and smoothed it out, feeling more like himself than he had all week.

"All right, _mon cher frère_. First things first. Whatever Puck may have told you, Napoleon is _not_ famous for inventing an ice cream flavor."

-

Once he was back in his room, he flopped on his bed and let out his breath, the sound turning into a groan of relief halfway through. His head hurt, his limbs were heavy, and his mind was going at about twenty-five percent of its usual speed after three straight days of turbo-mode, but he and Finn had just spent twenty minutes straight taking turns reading out of Finn's textbook in goofy French accents and laughing so hard that they both nearly shot milk out their noses, and when Finn had said good-night, he was smiling.

Finally. _Finally,_ he’d been able to set something right.

He was pulled from his semi-comatose bliss by his phone buzzing, and he just smiled as he reached for it, because there had been times the last few days when Blaine’s texts were just about the only thing getting him through.

But it wasn’t a text, and it wasn’t Blaine. He’d almost forgotten that he’d told Puck to call and update him.

Still not quite off his happy cloud of success, he lazily hit _Talk_. “Kurt Hummel, purveyor of brilliant plans and relationship reparation, how may I direct your call?”

Puck didn’t snort, like Kurt had come to expect from most of his attempts at humor. Really, he didn’t do much of anything. “Hey. You said to call.”

He didn’t sound a thing like the Puck who had been drumming on the back of his seat not an hour and a half ago, and Kurt sat up, frowning. “You talked to Shelby?”

“You think I’d be on the fucking phone with you if I didn’t?”

Kurt blinked rapidly, the glow of success fading fast. He knew that tone, and the anger wasn’t for him. “...And?”

A beat of silence.

“They’re going to Chicago.”

His voice sounded ten miles away, hoarse and hollow, and Kurt closed his eyes. “She didn’t change her mind?”

“You knew she wouldn’t. You knew the whole time.” A curl of accusation was creeping into his tone, but Kurt couldn’t say anything, so he didn’t. “Could’ve fucking _told_ me.”

“I did tell you,” Kurt said softly, and there was a sound like wind across the receiver.

“Yeah.”

Puck’s voice went from tired anger to hopelessness in the span of one word, and Kurt’s heart cracked down the middle.

“Noah, listen to me. This...this isn’t the end, okay? We’ll--”

“Well guess what, it actually kinda is.” There was rustling, like he was flopping down. “In two weeks, Beth’s gonna disappear a million miles away. She’s not even one and a half. Two more weeks, she won’t even remember me.”

“That’s not true.” Kurt bit his lip, glancing at the clock and gauging how wise or unwise it would be to drive over to Puck’s right that moment to...he didn’t know what, but _something_. The home video of that mattress commercial and _‘daddy’_ tickled at the back of his throat, begging to come out as proof, but it wasn’t his to tell, and he tamped it back down. “It isn’t a million miles away, and she’s not going to disappear.” Softer, “She’s never going to disappear unless you do.”

Puck was silent on the other end, and Kurt pushed on, keeping his voice gentle. “You remember Jean’s funeral last year? When Mr. Schue read that speech for Coach Sylvester about the people we love?”

“Invisible tether,” Puck said after a moment, and Kurt nodded.

“Unless you’re a better actor than I ever gave you credit for,” Kurt said slowly, “we both know exactly who is on the other end of your tether, Noah. What that means is no matter how far away Beth is, you’re a piece of her. Just like she’s a piece of you. You started pulling on that tether when you decided to go and see her back in June. She’ll always be on the other end. But if you quit pulling, and give up? She may never know that.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” Puck asked, still too quiet, the words still empty. “What I want to do means shit.”

“ _Try_ ,” Kurt said. “Figure something out. Yes, they’re moving, and that’s out of our control, but if you’re half the father I know you are, you’ll do everything in your power to hold on to her, even from three hundred miles away. You’ll do whatever it takes.”

Puck was silent just long enough to get unnerving before starting, “You seriously...” But he stopped, going quiet again.

Kurt lifted an eyebrow, even though no one could see. “What?”

“Forget it. Girly shit.”

“As the undisputed master of ‘girly shit,’ I will be the judge of that,” Kurt said, his mouth curving up. “Hit me.”

Puck let out his breath and spoke in a voice hushed like a secret. “You seriously think I’m a good dad?”

Kurt smiled. “I really do.”

There was a barely audible, “Huh,” in Kurt’s ear. Then, “Who’s on yours?”

“My what?”

“Your tether. Thing. Y’know.”

Kurt took exactly zero seconds to think about it. “My dad.”

“Always him?”

“...No,” Kurt said after middling for a second. Strangely reminded of sitting in the car with Puck after singing _Edelweiss_ to Beth, he swallowed and admitted, “Just since I was eight.” His eyes turned down, fixing on the imprints from his chair on the carpet, and he didn’t go into detail.

In a voice that was a little stronger, but still small, Puck asked, “What’d you do? One day they’re on the other end, next day they’re not?”

And Kurt had no idea whether they were talking about a mother or a father or a daughter anymore, but his answer was simple, probably too simple to be the least bit satisfying.

“Cried.” He stopped himself before his mind could go back to how big and empty that broken dresser had seemed. “A lot. Until I stopped long enough to notice someone else was picking up the end where she used to be.”

Puck was quiet for a long beat, long enough that Kurt almost checked to make sure he hadn’t hung up, but Puck spoke in a murmur before he could.

“I’ll do that song.”

Kurt frowned. “What song?”

“The song. The one you brought over here Sunday. From that musical with the gay dudes and the chicks who make out.” A beat of silence. “I’ll do it with you. Guitar part’s easy.”

“Are...you sure?” Kurt said slowly. “I seem to remember you being rather vehemently against it.”

“I’m not doing it for them.”

Kurt opened his mouth, then realized, and closed it.

“I’m gonna tell ‘em, though.” Puck’s voice had dropped a notch, his breathing quiet and slow on the other end of the line, as if he didn’t have the energy for more. “Maybe they’ll quit being assholes if they know she’s gonna be gone.”

Kurt sighed, leaning on his elbow and running his fingers through his hair. “I’m really sorry, Noah.”

“Yeah.” Another slow breath. “You busy tomorrow? We should probably practice or something. Figure you know it standing on your head anyway. Guy part is like two lines. We knock out an hour tomorrow and we can do it Friday.”

Kurt drew breath to suggest a later date, just so Puck would have some time to process before telling the whole club, but he couldn’t quite make himself do it. Instead, he pulled himself out of his hesitation and said, “Sure.”

“Cool. Wanna just give me a lift home after they let us out the hellhole?”

Trying a smile, just because the muted heaviness in Puck’s voice hurt too much, Kurt said, “Consider yourself transported.”

It got possibly the weakest snort he’d ever heard, but it at least got something, and Kurt’s smile stayed. “Thank you for doing that for Finn today. I know it wasn’t easy.”

“Whatever.” Kurt could almost hear the shrug. “He lost her, too.”

Kurt just lowered his eyes, because he didn’t have anything to say.

A huff of breath, and Puck shifted on the line. “I’m gonna peace out. Catch you tomorrow, dork.”

“And pleasantest dreams to you, too,” Kurt sugared at him, earning another snort before the phone clicked into silence.

Kurt stared at the blank screen of his phone for a while, then flopped back down and stared at the ceiling. A small part of him wondered if Puck was doing the same. He thought of Beth playing with ducks, of Shelby’s dining table perpetually draped in half-finished designs, of the dark blue front door.

He lay there, backfloating on memories, for a very long time.

-

_> > **You:** I love you._

_> > **Blaine:** Love you too  <3 How’d it go?_

_> > **You:** I really wish I could do something for Puck. I think it’s finally starting to sink in for him, and it’s not pretty._

_> > **Blaine:** :(_

_> > **You:** I mean, what do you say to someone who has to say goodbye to his /child/ for goodness knows how long? How do you fix that?_

_> > **Blaine:** You really don’t, babe. :( You just be there for him and make sure he knows it._

_> > **Blaine:** The Warblers are starting on our album this week. You could distract him with a tour of a shiny new recording studio?_

_> > **Blaine:** *poke*_

_> > **You:** Blaine._

_> > **Blaine:** ?_

_> > **You:** You are a genius and did I mention I love you?_

_> > **Blaine:** Yay! What did I do?_

_> > **You:** Omg. I can’t. Calling you now._


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Puck comes to Kurt for help, and Kurt figures it can’t hurt to do a friend a favor. Unfortunately, everything is more complicated when there’s a baby involved.

For all they had been through together over the last three months, Kurt was finding that he still had no idea what to do with a depressed Puck.

It wasn’t at all like trying to cheer up one of his ladies, at which he was the undisputed master: Mercedes was healed by tater-tots and any movie featuring Queen Latifah, Rachel got interactive screenings of _Funny Girl_ and showers of mostly-true compliments, Tina got impromptu field trips to novelty goth-shops and a living practice dummy for her stash of guyliner, Quinn was a secret cuddler, Santana needed a partner for sitting in the mall and judging people, and Brittany could usually be cheered by Disney as long as no one died.

Even some of the boys, Kurt sort of knew how to appease. Finn usually just needed reminders that he mattered, something goofy to laugh at, and someone to laugh with him. He’d learned at the beginning of last year that Artie thought Kurt the Gangsta was basically the best thing since Mr. Schue the Rapper, so all it took with him was an awkward gang-sign and a ‘yo’ or two. And funnily enough, after his rough spot last year, Sam seemed to really get a kick out of playing dress-up with Kurt’s clothes (which was a pretty great way to get Kurt laughing himself to tears, too).

Puck, though.

Puck was a challenge.

Depressed Puck was honestly almost as heartbreaking as Sad Blaine, which frankly was one high bar. He was quiet and angry and hopeless, never more than half there. Attempts at humor fell flat, earning little more than the occasional snort or roll of the eyes. Shopping was a laughable _no_. Talking about it seemed to result in Puck either clamming up or lashing out, neither of which were at all productive. And Kurt’s sanity was far too dependent on Blaine’s texts lately for him to risk losing his phone over another drinking debacle.

It was a problem, and one he had no idea how to address, but Kurt was reasonably sure that sitting Puck down to sing through an admittedly depressing song multiple times was not the prize-winning solution. But Puck had looked dangerously close to chucking Kurt off the bleachers when he’d started to suggest not doing the song after all (again), so here he was, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Puck on his futon with an earbud in one ear and half a guitar in his lap, singing through one of the saddest songs from Rent because Kurt apparently had the emotional sensitivity of a kumquat.

At the moment, Puck was grunting and scribbling in a note on the sheet music before settling his arms back around his guitar, and seeming mostly pretty okay. “Okay, [rewind it](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gi6Ukpq8H7k).”

Puck was turning out to be a surprisingly attentive duet partner. They’d sung together plenty of times by now, but not like this, working, perfecting, without their audience of one.

(Kurt considered voicing how cheated he now felt that they weren’t discovering how good they were at this until their last year of glee club, but a half hour ago they’d hit this sharply-focused productive _zone_ that until now he’d been convinced only existed on Black Friday, and he didn’t dare break it.)

He pressed _Play_ again, a few measures earlier than the spot, and sang his own part at half-voice, like he had been all evening, to let Puck focus on his own. Just like he had all evening, Puck corrected the change the first time, and didn’t need to be reminded again.

Kurt did love this song, even if it was sort of a terrible idea that had him glancing at Puck every few seconds to make sure he wasn’t about to...well, he didn’t know what, but whatever it was, he was pretty sure he didn’t want Puck to do it. The first section was all Kurt and the guitar, but a years-long love affair with Rent had ensured that he could sing it forward, backward, upside-down, in his sleep, while replacing a muffler, and in French. (If anyone asked, yes, all at the same time.) What they were here to practice was singing it together, and as they neared Puck’s entrance, Kurt lifted a hand and counted off on his fingers, _three, two, one._

Then it was time for harmony, and on a whim Kurt unplugged the earbuds, reached over and stilled Puck’s hand on the strings, and he listened for rhythm and pitch while they sang it a cappella. Harmonies humming like they were supposed to, timing in perfect sync, and ugh, this was not even a little bit fair.

Kurt pulled his hand off of Puck’s when the section ended and reconnected the iPod, and Puck picked right back up while Kurt curled his fingers into an ‘OK’ signal. Puck glanced at it, then focused back on the sheet music with a nod. They finished out the song, and the ringing of Puck’s final strum slowed into silence, and for a while, that was all.

When Kurt glanced over, Puck’s eyes were on the floor, nothing readable in his face, and Kurt was definitely an emotional kumquat. Softly, he tried, “You okay?”

Finally Puck animated, letting out his breath. “Nope.”

He folded up the sheet music, set it aside, slipped the guitar strap off his shoulders.

“If I wasn’t in juvie last year for the duet contest, you and me woulda knocked that shit out of the freaking park.”

The corner of Kurt’s mouth turned up. “I’m taking personal offense to the fact that Mr. Schuester never thought of it.”

“Psh, yeah right. I’m not Hudson and you’re not Berry.”

“I’m tempted to sue.”

“For what, his geezer-vest collection or his busted-ass ride?”

“...God, I want to fix that thing.”

“Which one?”

Kurt lifted an eyebrow. Puck snorted, and Kurt counted it as a win.

“Well,” Kurt said, pulling his feet up to sit more comfortably, “we clearly are musical prodigies, so I think we’re more than ready. Music-wise.” A glance, but Puck wasn’t giving him anything. “It would probably be wisest to save this for the end of glee club. Give everyone a weekend to think over their behavior in the context of...what you’re going to tell them.”

“Telling you,” Puck muttered, slumping back again with a foot on the coffee table, “it’s not gonna change anything.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Kurt sighed, resting his head on the back of the futon and staring at the ceiling. “I guess there isn’t much to say to some of the others anymore. I tried talking to Mercedes and Rachel last week and that...wasn’t wonderful. Santana and Quinn were never that fond of me in the first place. I had the idea for this song when almost everyone hated us, but now...I don’t know.”

Puck grunted. “Only reason Quinn and J-Lo are pissed at you is because you’re still hanging with me.”

“At this point, that is three thousand percent their problem.”

Puck’s lips twitched, and he slumped back a little more, his shoulder bumping Kurt’s. Lifting his head off the cushion, Kurt dropped his eyes to the carpet and bumped him back. A beat, and he pressed his lips together. “They have been strangely quiet since Quinn’s song, though. Though it does look like Quinn’s Facebook is back up.”

Puck shrugged. “Who cares.”

Kurt raised his hand. “Kind of, yeah. And I daresay regarding Santana, you should, too--don’t sulk at me, we both know that was all you,” he added when Puck shot him a glare.

Puck crossed his arms, sulking anyway. “She doesn’t give a shit if I apologize. Never has. If I try to talk to her, she’ll find some way to chop off my junk with a paperclip or something.”

“And?”

“Dude.”

“It doesn’t matter that we all knew _something_ was going on with her and Brittany, but it’s her right to talk about it whenever and however she wants, and it was absolutely not your right to call her on it like it’s something she should be ashamed of.”

“If it’s such a big deal, how come you haven’t been giving me shit about it until now?”

Kurt fixed him with a flat stare and counted off on his fingers. “Grounded. School. Slushies. Diaper-attacks. Dalton, thank you. Shelby, you’re welcome. Rachel. Mercedes. Finn--”

“Okay, okay. Geez.” Puck hunched his shoulders, frowning at the floor. “I know it was a dick move, all right? I was pissed. I don’t think about shit when I’m pissed.” His voice dropped to a mutter. “What do I even say?”

“Don’t look at me. Gay, yes, scorned and possibly sociopathic knife-wielding lesbian, no.”

Puck slouched deeper with a huff. “Fine, whatever, I’ll do something. Sometime. But if she comes at me with her teeth, it was your idea. Got it?”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “Naturally.”

“Seriously, dude. _Paperclip_.”

“It’s okay, Noah.” Kurt patted his knee, nodding in syrupy sympathy. “I’ll protect you.”

“Whoa, hold up, the Puckmeister doesn’t need--”

“I’ll be your _white knight_.”

“ _Dude_.”

“Upon a fiery steed.”

“Ohhh no. Hell no, don’t you--”

“I know late at night, you toss and turn…”

“Not here, dude, this is my fucking _sanctum_ \--”

Kurt couldn’t keep the straight face anymore, leaning into Puck and crooning, “..and [_dreeeam_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dLHCS6oL7lo&t=0m28s) of what you need…”

By the time Kurt had shimmied his way half through the chorus and was being shoved to the other end of the futon, Puck was definitely trying very hard not to laugh with him, and Kurt took that as a win.

-

The next morning started with an eagerly-anticipated text from Blaine.

_> > **Blaine:** Guten morgen mein liebling, gonna bring up your idea with the council when they open the floor tonight at rehearsal. Kiss for good luck?  <3 _

Smiling, Kurt sent a quick text back.

_> > **You:** Mwah! Let me know if you need a pic of my sad-face to help persuade them. Works on my dad 9x/10. Thank you love you xoxoxo_

Following that text, the rest of the day was refreshingly normal. Well, new normal. New normal being picking up Puck and rocking out to ‘What You Own’ all the way to school, teasing him about his newfound appreciation for Rent until they parted ways for class, doodling through Macroeconomics before giving Artie a push to their English class and engaging in a subtle big-word contest with him throughout the group discussion (totally won), then texting Tina through his math class and steadily avoiding Azimio through French, relieved when he could escape to catch up with Dave on the way to lunch.

New normal. As it turned out, not a bad normal at all.

It was after a surprisingly smooth final three classes of the day, when he and Puck had just met up to regroup before glee club, that his drama-free streak came to an end. Puck was slinging on his guitar and shaking out his shoulders with a determined eye on the choir room door, Kurt going over in his head once more just how he was going to charm and/or trick Mr. Schuester into letting them duet when he still hadn’t done his own assignment yet, when a familiar and grating voice caught his ear from down the hall.

“I’m here with Brittany S. Pierce of Cheerios and Fondue For Two fame--”

“Go away now.”

A second, and Brittany rounded the corner, tailed by a half-galloping Jacob Ben Israel, camera in tow.

“Is it true that Santana Lopez likes her hot dog buns sans hot dog?”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Jacob stepped into her path as she tried to walk away, putting the camera back in her face. “I heard from a reliable source that McKinley’s evil queen has been called out for renouncing male affections and turning to a life of sapphic sin and splendor.” Next to him, Puck tensed. “How do you comment?”

“I still don’t know what that means.”

She moved again, and again he blocked her. “And is it true that you, Brittany Pierce, are her chosen lady love?”

Kurt’s stomach clenched while Puck muttered, “ _Hell_ no.” He was five steps down the hall in their direction before Kurt quite realized he’d moved, and he hurried to catch up.

It was easier to see Brittany’s face as they got close. Her brow was furrowing while she looked uncomfortably away. “I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

“So you admit that you and Santana are doing the dirty deed sans the D?”

Her arms tightened around her books. “I’m not supposed to talk about it, go away now--”

She moved, and Jacob moved to block her, but then squeaked when Puck grabbed his shoulder. “Hey. Jewfro.” He wrenched Jacob around to face him, glaring down even as Jacob shoved the camera in his face. Behind him, Kurt glanced warily around for teachers. “Back off her.”

“Noah Puckerman, rumor has it that _you_ were the one to call out Santana Lopez’s rampant lesbianism to the world--”

“I said back off!” It took one firm tug for Puck to force the camera out of Jacob’s grip. He handed it to Kurt blind, freeing his hands to yank Jacob close by the collar. “I didn’t _say_ anything, you didn’t _hear_ anything, so lay the hell off Lopez unless you want--”

“--to fish this camera out of the Ottawa River,” Kurt finished for him, shooting Puck a pointed glance. _Don’t get yourself in trouble._

Jacob squirmed out of Puck’s grip and bent awkwardly to get his face back in the camera in Kurt’s hand, even as Kurt clicked his tongue and set about figuring how to turn off the dumb thing. “You heard it here first, McKinley. The school gays are now banding together to shut down this breaking story and hold a ritual burning of the First Amendment--”

Kurt groaned. “Oh my God, Puck is _not gay_ , are we still talking about this…there we go,” he added in a mutter when he finally pressed the right button.

“Who even gives a shit who’s gay or not?” Puck said while Kurt held the camera out of Jacob’s reach. “Point is, you want to mess with Lopez or Pierce, you’re gonna have to go through--”

“Me.”

Kurt looked up just in time for the voice’s owner to slide between Jacob and Brittany, who had shrunk back looking lost. One look at Santana’s expression, and he automatically checked again for teachers, because he knew that look. She flatly met Jacob’s gaze. “Problem?”

“Nope,” Puck answered before Jacob could finish drawing breath. “We got this.”

“Gay Thunder, your sub’s off his leash.”

Ah. Not so forgiven, then.

Santana stepped into Jacob’s space, using the three inches she had over him to their utmost potential. “You want a story? I’ll tell you a story,” she said, starting to advance on him. “This is the story of how a greasy little streak of nothing got himself hoisted up the flagpole by his three scraggly pubes and left there to wave in his own flopsweat until PETA showed up to take him down for poisoning the birds’ breathing-air. Then he was axe-murdered. The End. Questions?”

“...One,” Jacob said in a half-squeak, and unfortunate a human being as he may have been, Kurt had to allow that he was gutsy. “Did the axe-wielder then go home and have sexy girl-time with Brittany Pi--”

Brittany’s name dissolved into a yelp when Santana’s calm veneer snapped out and for a second, all Kurt could see was _motion_ : Santana shooting forward and Jacob jumping back and Puck leaping to action, catching Santana’s shoulders, stopping her. “Whoa, take it easy, Schue’s gonna be coming through here in like--”

“Touch me again, Fauxhawk,” Santana snarled, throwing him off with a violent jerk. “See what happens.”

And now the dangerous expression was aimed at Puck, and this was looking far too much like Rachel’s Basement 2.0. Kurt inserted an arm between Santana and Puck, coaxing him back a little. “He’s just trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help. Back up or I _will_ cut you. That goes for you, too, Disco Stick.”

“Lay off him,” Puck shot back, moving Kurt aside (a significant improvement over being chucked into a wall), and Kurt’s eyes fell on Finn rounding the corner down the hall, frowning in their direction and then starting to approach, ignoring Kurt’s raised hand to stay out of it. “I’m trying to fix shit here, Lopez. The hell you want me to do?”

“I want you to play human Tetris with two speeding trains, but life’s a bitch.”

“Hey.” Kurt grimaced when Finn appeared next to him, looking warily between Puck and Santana. “What’s going on?”

“You stay out of it, Duncecap.”

“Santana.”

“Please.” She rolled her eyes, shrugging it off when Brittany touched her shoulder and asked if they could just go. “Let me lay it out for you: this is between the lioness,” she gestured to herself, and then to a keenly-observing Jacob, “and the warthog.” She looked from Finn, to Kurt, to Puck, listing off in order, “You, I don’t care about. You need to calm your ovaries and mind your own business, and you have done enough. _Back. Off._ ”

“Look, _I’m sorry_ , all right?” Puck snapped back. “I didn’t mean to say that shit, I don’t even think the g--that stuff is _bad_ , and it’s not even true unless you say it is, so can we just--”

“No.” Santana rounded on him. “We can’t. Know why? Because I _know_ who you are.” A warning tension crept through Kurt’s shoulders, and he and Finn exchanged worried glances, but Santana was already racing ahead of them. “You can play nice all you want, but I’ve _always_ known who you are. You’re a pathetic, pig-headed, dysfunctional pile of failure, and you deal with that by dragging down everyone who gives you the time of day until we all feel as worthless as your sorry-ass attempt at _apologizing_ for screwing with my life, and Quinn’s, and your slobbering three-nippled spawn’s--”

Puck’s nostrils flared and he lurched forward, directly into Santana’s space, and spoke dangerous and low. “Call her that again.”

The anger just barely dislodged the hurt Puck hadn’t quite succeeded at hiding, and this conversation needed to end. Kurt laid a hand on Puck’s arm and said in half-voice, “Puck, we should go. It’s not worth--”

“What are you going to do, Puckerman?” Santana interrupted, matching his tone, cool and quiet. “Hit me?”

The shift happened immediately, from all directions. At Kurt’s sides, Finn seemed to draw up tight while Puck deflated and shrank, just a little. The flat hopelessness glinted back in his face, then seemed to break, his throat bobbing and his lips pressing together. Santana’s face shifted, too, almost invisibly and only for a second, something like pain, before she stubbornly lifted her chin, her gaze not quite on Puck anymore but not quite anywhere else.

Clenching his jaw, Puck turned on his heel and silently stormed away.

Only Brittany and Jacob looked--respectively--uncertain and intrigued, and it occurred to Kurt then: the rest of them _knew_. Finn had been Puck’s best friend, and he didn’t know how close he’d been with Santana, but close enough. Of course Kurt hadn’t been the first one to know what Puck had told him after the last disaster, half-spoken across Puck’s bedroom in the dark.

Santana was unhappily eyeing the floor after Puck was gone, so Kurt couldn’t gauge just what his own face must look like in her reaction, but Finn bumped his arm and gave him a guess. “Go ahead.” Kurt glanced at him, but Finn gave him an encouraging nod, and for a second Kurt felt an odd tightness, as though he were being passed a mantle he hadn’t realized Finn still had.

A mantle, it turned out, he also hadn’t quite realized he’d already accepted.

Kurt sent Santana one more glance, then handed Jacob’s camera to Finn and turned to follow Puck. Behind him, he could make out Finn’s voice almost to the end of the hall. “You’re out of line, Santana. Puck was mad that night because he found out Beth’s mom is taking her away to _Chicago_ , for like, _ever_. Just because you yell something really bad at someone...in a basement...when you’re really pissed...it doesn’t mean that you mean it.”

And that part may have short-circuited Kurt’s brain for a second, and it was only his quick reflexes from bully-dodging that kept him from crashing right into Quinn as he rounded the corner. They stared at each other for a split-second--and her expression was strange, something he didn’t think he’d seen on her before--and she didn’t seem to have been walking, just standing at the corner, and that was weird, but that was a layer of drama that Kurt was absolutely not dealing with right now, so he muttered an apology and went around her.

It wasn’t hard to deduce where Puck had gone; there were only so many places to go in the building, and Kurt was his ride. Not that it would stop Puck from walking, but he didn’t feel like that was the expression he’d seen. He certainly wouldn’t have gone to the choir room, and teachers would still be in the classrooms.

On opening the door to the locker room, Kurt was greeted by a series of dull, arrhythmic thuds. They echoed, just a little, amplified in the nearly-empty room. Empty, from where Kurt was standing. The not-rhythm kept on, and he took a deep breath--he still couldn’t come in here without one too many unfortunate memories pressing on his sternum--and followed it past the benches and behind the lockers to the exercise area. Weights, tubs, bars, punching bag, and Puck.

Kurt immediately grimaced, because he knew laughably little about boxing, but he was reasonably certain that bags weren’t meant to be punched without gloves, or wraps, or...something.

“Puck,” Kurt tried. Puck’s fists remained clenched, and he didn’t stop.

Biting his lip, Kurt left the doorway and moved closer, off to Puck’s side. “Puck,” he said softly, carefully, “it’s Santana. You know, and I know, this is what she does. If someone hurts her, she finds a way to hurt them back. By any means necessary.”

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

“No one thinks you would do something like that,” he pushed after a moment, his brow pulling down as he eyed the reddening cracks on Puck’s bare fists. “You’re not any of what she said. Or implied. She just said what she knew would hurt most--”

Puck whirled on him, advancing so fast that Kurt’s mind immediately sounded an alarm of _locker room danger run_ and he automatically backed up a step, his back hitting the locker with a clang. “She said what she knew would hurt most because it was true.”

Kurt tried to make words for a second, wise and true and placating words, but for the span of that second, his voice said no. Puck turned his frown downward, looking a bit ill, and Kurt realized his arms had flown up halfway to his chest, instinct kicking in at an extremely unfortunate moment.

Puck turned back to the punching bag while Kurt grimaced. “Sorry.”

“Tell me ‘sorry’ again and I’ll _kick_ your _ass_ ,” Puck said, each punch turning his voice into a grunt. “It’s _that_ shit. That shit’s why she’s _right_.”

“Noah, she’s not--”

“I’m a _giant--fuck-up--waiting--to happen_!” Puck growled out in time with four hard punches that made Kurt’s hands (and face, and stomach) hurt just from watching. “But hell, _why wait_? I’ve already backstabbed my boy,” _thud_ , “knocked up his girlfriend,” _thud_ , “stole my mom’s car and _trashed_ it,” _thud_ , “gone to _juvie_ ,” _thud_ , “made you scared of fucking _everything_ , same as my _dad_ did to my _mom_ ,” _thud, thud, thud_ , his voice starting to break, “now I get to watch that _bitch_ take my _kid_ away from me and there’s not a _fucking thing I can do!_ ”

His last punch was blind and missed the bag, throwing him off balance, and Kurt was across the room and catching his shoulder in the span of a heartbeat. Puck caught himself on one of the benches and tried to spring back up again, teeth gritted and face livid, but Kurt bit down his flight-instinct and brought his other hand to Puck’s other shoulder, pushing down. “Noah, stop.”

“ _Fucking_ make me!”

“ _Stop_ ,” Kurt repeated, pushing until Puck seemed to give up, dropping heavily to the bench and breathing hard, shaking.

(And vaguely Kurt was aware that he was shaking too, just a little, because this kind of anger had never been a part of his world until Puck and Dave, and even now it was too big and too scary for him, more than he trusted himself to not make worse.)

Kurt left his hands on Puck’s shoulders, at a loss now that he’d actually listened, startled by the silence. Puck glared straight ahead, his jaw set and his eyes wet, and all Kurt could think to do was give his shoulders a squeeze and repeat, softly now, “You have to stop.”

“I can’t stop,” Puck said, all tension under Kurt’s hands. His voice began to crackle. “It’s never gonna fucking _stop_.”

And that was so achingly familiar, taking Kurt straight back to being curled up against Puck’s bathtub after the article came out, when all he could bring himself to do was bow his head and hide from his own thoughts ( _This is what my life is going to be, this will never get better, this is never going to stop_ ), that his face nearly crumpled right along with Puck’s.

Instead, he swallowed it down and tentatively curled both arms around Puck’s shoulders, and squeezed.

One deep, shaky breath, two, and Puck’s forehead pressed into Kurt’s stomach. In a voice that was helpless and impossibly young, he rasped out, “I don’t want her to go.”

And he broke.

He broke, completely, and Kurt’s hesitation fled along with the structural integrity of his heart. He stepped closer and hugged his hurting friend, because that was the absolute most important thing he could do, and after a moment Puck’s arms were clamped around his waist, holding on tight.

“I know,” Kurt whispered, closing his eyes as he was squeezed too tight and his shirt was slowly soaked through. “I know.”

It took time for Puck to tire himself out. Once he had, and his arms finally dropped away from Kurt’s waist, Kurt let him go and sat down next to him on the bench. Puck was silent, swollen eyes on the floor.

Softly, Kurt asked, “What do you need?”

Puck shrugged.

Kurt rephrased. “What do you want?”

“To see her.”

Kurt nodded, then bent to pull out his phone. “I’ll ask Shelby if--”

“No.”

He paused, and Puck dragged his gaze up from the ground enough to shake his head at him. “No way. Hell with what I want, I’m not being around her when I’m fucked up like this.”

Kurt knew that feeling too well after months of keeping his bad days to himself while his dad was recovering, and he took his hand off his phone, sitting up again. “Okay.”

Silence for another stretch, and part of Kurt felt like he should be doing something, saying something, and not just sitting here. The other part wondered if maybe just sitting here was the best thing he could do.

At the third minute, Puck sniffed and asked, "What do you do?"

"Hm?"

"When things go to shit." He picked at a spot on the bench where the plastic was scraped to shreds, not seeming to notice that his knuckles didn't look much better. "You're always so chill."

"…I spent the entirety of last year chronically dehydrated from various stages of ugly-crying."

"Well, no shit--"

"Walrus noises, Puck. They happened."

"Whatever," Puck said over him, not laughing but at least looking more irritated than broken, and crossed his arms. "I didn't mean that, I mean when you're pissed. You never do shit like this." He jerked his head toward the punching bag. "Yeah, you've bitched people out for wearing the wrong shoelaces--"

"All of them. All shoelaces are wrong."

"--but you've never straight-up snapped on anyone. How do you deal?"

Kurt's eyes darted to one specific locker across the room--one that he did not lean against to chat with Dave now like he did elsewhere, and that he probably never would--and he bit his lip. "I've snapped before."

Silence, and when Kurt looked over, Puck was watching him like he was reading a different language, eyes narrowed. Kurt shook his head and dropped his eyes to his knees. "But most of the time, I use music. _Wicked_ , usually. Patti Lupone. I've also been known to go into bouts of scrapbooking fervor."

Puck huffed a loud sigh, dropping his arms open, his hands stiff. "You are so fucking gay."

"Your jealousy is both tangible and inevitable. Let me see your hands."

"I'm fine."

"Noah."

“I’m _fine_.”

“Noah.”

The stare-down lasted exactly three seconds before Puck rolled his eyes and held out one hand. Kurt bit down a grimace at the sight of it, instead ordering Puck to move all of his fingers to confirm nothing was broken, then clucking and pulling his handy first-aid kit from his bag. "Hold still. This might sting."

"Why the hell do you keep a first-aid kit in your bag?"

"In case I break a nail. _Hey_ \--what did I say about holding still?"

"Dude, that stings like hell!"

"Man up, Puckerman."

Puck sulked, but stopped fidgeting, and Kurt worked in silence for a little while, mentally patting himself on the back for at least helping Puck out of his angry danger-zone for the time being, and meanwhile shuffling through possibilities for what on earth should come after this part.

"Feel okay?" he asked once he'd finished wrapping the first hand, and Puck flexed his fingers and nodded. He didn't fight when Kurt beckoned for his other hand and got to work.

"You know," he said as he started applying the antiseptic where the skin had broken, "if you don't want to go to Shelby's and you don't want to go home, I could take you back to my house for a while. Carole's certainly always prepared to add another plate for you when you come home with Finn." He kept his eyes carefully on his dabbing, going on when Puck didn't respond, "More importantly, Finn kept his Halo game hostage while he was shunning me. It's been far too long since I engaged in a merciless act of domination. I feel incomplete."

Puck snorted, his shoulders finally relaxing a little once Kurt put the antiseptic away. "That's 'cause you've been playing Hudson. Get _me_ a controller, and I'll smack you down so bad they'll need a _spatula_ to scrape you off."

"Ooh. Big talk from the Demoman who ate his own grenade last week in Team Fortress 2."

"Dude, that wasn't even me! It was 'cause Karofsky's fucking Heavy bumped me!"

"You did have it coming for calling him a fatass."

"You've seriously gotta learn the bro code. Article Sixty-Seven: What happens on the headset _stays_ on the headset."

"There is no such thing as the 'bro code,' Noah."

"You just think there's not ‘cause you've never been someone's bro before."

Kurt finished wrapping Puck's other hand and squinted, then shook his head and let go.

Puck didn't push him, working his fingers a little before dropping his hand back down. He looked sideways at Kurt. "So you're cool with me crashing with you for a while?"

Kurt lifted an eyebrow. "Just don't cry when I wipe the floor with your Halo team, one gunner at a time."

For a second Puck didn't reply, and Kurt wondered for just a second before mentally kicking himself and wondering instead just how many times it was statistically possible to stick his foot in his mouth via poor word choice in one lifetime. _'Don't cry.' Nice one, Friend of the Year._

But Puck just watched him for a minute, wearing an expression Kurt couldn't read, before pushing himself to his feet. He stayed silent, and Kurt focused intently on slipping his first-aid kit back into his bag.

“You don’t carry that thing around in case you mess up your nails.”

Kurt looked up, and Puck was still wearing that unreadable face, but he at least looked like himself. And like he knew the answer already.

Slowly, Kurt shook his head.

"Honestly," he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder, "this is the first occasion I've had to use it in a long time."

Puck studied him a little longer, then lowered his eyes and nodded. "Good." He held out a bandaged hand that Kurt really didn't need, but he smiled a bit and gripped wrists with him anyway, letting himself be pulled up. The second he was standing, Puck draped an arm around his neck and said, straight-faced and conspiratorial, "'Cause you'll need the whole rest of the damn _kit_ to patch your Halo team back together after I smack 'em down like the hand of God."

He punctuated it with a wicked smirk and a firm, day-destroying ruffle of Kurt's hair that made Kurt's jaw drop open and his eyes narrow because oh no he did _not_.

Puck clapped him on the back and straightened up, and when melting his face via glare didn't work, he turned on his heel and headed for the door. "Oh, you are _so_ getting left behind."

"Aw, what, Hummel, scared you can't take me?"

"You'd already be handicapped enough by virtue of playing against the undisputed Halo-master of the Hudmel clan. You really want to get yourself mixed up with this _now_ , Paddle-Hands?"

"All the better for bitchsmacking you with, my dear."

"Fighting words. There are way too many fighting words in this hall right now."

"So's your face."

"That didn't even make sense."

"Neither does your face."

"...Better."

-

Kurt didn't take the direct route home, instead winding around a bit and exchanging less-than-mature threats of virtual-reality doom with Puck, carefully not thinking about how he was currently playing hookie from glee club. Puck's eyes were still holding on to a tiny, haunted glimmer from before, but he was smirking, looking more relaxed with every jab he took at Kurt's video game prowess, so on the whole Kurt was feeling pretty good about the state of things. Life wasn't wonderful, exactly, but it was okay. They were okay.

At least, until they turned onto Kurt's street and slowed down at the sight of two cars in the driveway that did not belong to anyone who lived there, and Puck paled and said, "Oh, shit."

Kurt stared, because he recognized both of those cars, and his sentiment was the same.

"Shit," Puck hissed again, "what the hell, that's my--"

"Your mom's Volvo," Kurt finished for him, vaguely remembering the car from the weeks it spent in the middle of his dad's workshop and the tang of irony as he'd worked on it.

"So what's that other one?" Puck asked, and Kurt swallowed hard, because that was the one he was worried about.

"That's Shelby's car."

He looked to Puck, but Puck didn't look back right away, his gaze locked on the car seat visible through the back window. When he did tear his eyes away from it, they just stared at each other for a second, eyes a little wide.

"Dude, did you _tell_ your _dad_ what we were doing all summer?"

"No! Of course not." Kurt looked back to the driveway, mind racing with possibilities that took a half-second each to crumble. "I never told him anything. You didn't tell your mom--"

"You kidding?"

"Just checking."

They fell silent, sort of stuck, looking between the driveway and each other. Almost to himself, Puck murmured, "What the hell are they doing here?" Louder, with the defensive bite slipping into his voice, "Were they just gonna straight-up ambush us?"

"We're supposed to be at glee club," Kurt reminded him, coming to himself enough to park properly on the side of the street. "And there was no way for them to know you'd be coming back with me. Until a half hour ago, _we_ didn't know that."

"Then what the _hell’s_ going on?!"

"Hey." Kurt held up a placating hand. "Calm down."

He straightened the wheel and shifted into Park, then turned off the engine and did nothing else. "It's not like we've done anything wrong--that includes you," Kurt added, flashing on a punching bag and meeting Puck's eyes for emphasis. "We saw Shelby two days ago and everything was fine. Maybe--"

His phone buzzed in his bag. A glance at the screen, and Kurt pursed his lips. “It’s my dad.”

It kept buzzing while they frowned at each other, until Kurt huffed a deep breath and answered. “Hi, Dad!”

It was about an octave higher than his usual, and he winced immediately while Puck groaned a, “Dude,” from off to the side.

 _“Hey, kiddo,”_ his dad’s voice replied. _“Answer me something. You two ever plan on coming inside, or should I bring out a couple sleeping bags?”_

Busted. “…Ah,” was all Kurt could quite get out, glancing toward the front window and seeing, sure enough, a vaguely Dad-like silhouette through the curtains. He pointed it out to Puck with a tilt of his head and earned another hissed curse. Kurt cleared his throat. “No. Um. No sleeping bags necessary. We’ll…be right in. Is there...something we should be aware of?”

_“You’re not going to jail, kid. Door’s unlocked. And tell Puckerman to watch the language.”_

“Right. Will do.”

The second Kurt ended the call, an elbow knocked hard into his arm, accompanied by a full-voiced, “Dude!”

“Stop saying ‘dude!’ That is not a word!” Kurt snapped back, rubbing his arm.

“What the hell’d you do that for? Now we’ve gotta go in!”

“We’d be going in anyway, Noah, he knows we’re out here.”

“Maybe I don’t want to go in!”

“Fine! Then I’ll call him back and tell him I’m taking you home firs--”

“No way in hell, dude, I’m _going_ the fuck in!”

“Then why are you yelling at me?”

“ _I don’t know!_ ”

“Well, stop it!”

“ _Fine!_ ”

The silence was as sudden as the shouting, and they glared at each other for a second, panting a little.

A moment and a few more breaths, and Kurt lowered his voice. “Feel better?”

Puck’s glare slowly gave way to a perplexed frown. “Kinda.”

“Good. Me too.” Kurt finally pulled the keys out of the ignition. “My dad says to stop swearing.”

“He seriously heard me?” Puck popped the handle on the door but didn’t open it quite yet. “No wonder you’re a freaking ninja. Shit.”

A faint grin crossed Kurt’s face as he opened his door. “You should have seen my mom.”

“Mad skills, huh?”

“Oh, yes.” Kurt shouldered his bag and shut the door behind him. “I don’t think we’re in trouble.”

“Keep dreaming,” Puck grumbled next to him. “When they call in reinforcements, you’re always in trouble.”

Kurt led the way to his front door, letting Puck drag his feet behind and vaguely wondering if walking up to a doorway with Puck would ever be a normal, non-stress-inducing thing. At the moment, the chances weren’t looking awesome.

His dad met them inside, regarding them from under the brim of his cap. “Aren’t you boys supposed to be at glee club?”

Kurt took off his shoes in the doorway and hung up his bag, avoiding eye contact, _he was skipping a school activity ugh._ “We...opted out. Shoes, Noah,” he added over his shoulder to Puck, who was definitely trying not to look like he was hiding behind him, and that was just hilarious enough after this day/week/public school career that Kurt almost gave up on everything and burst into inappropriate hysterics, but he was beaten to the impulse when a high, now-familiar laugh bubbled out of the living room.

He immediately turned toward the sound, Puck mirroring him in the corner of his eye. Glancing at Puck, then at his dad, he asked at a lower volume, “What’s going on?”

“You’re busted, that’s what.” He tilted his head toward the living room. “Come on.”

Really, nothing about this setup should have been surprising considering the amount of warning they’d gotten, but walking in, it still made Kurt want to double-take and demand to know who had Photoshopped his living room. Shelby in that chair, glancing up at them with a quirked eyebrow, instead of clicking through her laptop on her leather couch: wrong. Carole chatting amicably with had-to-be-Mrs.-Puckerman (and he realized, huh, he’d never actually gotten a good look at Puck’s mom before) on the couch like they were some sort of couch-chatting-buddies: wrong. Beth, bouncing happily in Mrs. Puckerman’s lap...in her grandmother’s lap.

...Not wrong. Not really.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” his dad said as he led them in, taking a seat in his own chair, and wow, a lot of adults looking at them at the same time.

Carole smiled and leaned down by Beth, getting her attention with a little gasp. “Who’s that, Beth?” she asked, and Beth looked up, following Carole’s pointed finger in their direction. “Look who’s here!”

Beth had let out a squeak and started wriggling her way out of Mrs. Puckerman’s lap before Carole had gotten the last word out, and as soon as Mrs. Puckerman had helped her down, Beth ran across the carpet in her toddling way, nearly faceplanting but just managing to bump gently into Puck’s legs instead, bracing herself on them and looking up at him with a triumphant, “Da!”

 _Oh, thank you,_ Kurt whispered silently to the universe while Puck’s mouth twitched and he bent to pick her up, easy and automatic, with a barely-audible murmur of, “Hey, baby-girl.” _Thank you for giving him this now, here, today._

The moment only lasted a second before Puck seemed to remember there were other people in the room and glanced up at his mom, pressing his lips together and seeming to de-age by ten years, looking a little like he was considering clutching Beth to him and running out the door. That wouldn’t be good. So Kurt cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the room. He glanced from Mrs. Puckerman to Carole to Shelby, suddenly a little uncertain himself. “So...how much trouble are we in?”

Reassuringly and disturbingly, all three women just smiled.

A few pointed looks later, he was sitting on a couch full of Puckermans while Carole half-perched on the arm of his dad’s chair, and Shelby was leaning forward.

“I had an idea for how to thank you guys for being such a big help this summer,” she said, “but I didn’t want to bring it up until I had your parents’ OK. You both just gave me your cell numbers, so I checked the phone book.” She hit them both with the quizzical eyebrow again. “Here I was thinking they already knew. I’ve been out of teaching too long, I’m forgetting how teenagers work.”

“Not all of them. Just mine,” Mrs. Puckerman said, but her voice was soft, her eyes on Beth until she lifted them to Puck. “Noah, why would you lie about this?”

Puck carefully studied the blocks Beth was clacking together in his lap. “I wasn’t lying. I just didn’t talk about it.”

Kurt dared a glance up to the Dad-and-Carole Corner, and fought a wince at the pair of expectant gazes he was hit with. Oh, look at that, Beth’s blocks really were interesting. “I was sworn to secrecy.”

“By me.” Puck finally lifted his head, panning the room. “It was my idea, and I told him not to tell. He didn’t do anything bad.”

“Neither did he,” Kurt was saying before planning to, his gaze landing on Mrs. Puckerman. “...Hi. Kurt Hummel. We haven’t actually met. But Noah didn’t do anything wrong. He asked me if I would drive him, so he could see Beth without breaking your rules about the car. And we were supervised--”

“Totally, Ms. C was there the whole time. And I paid Kurt back for gas and stuff,” Puck assured his mom.

“And I didn’t accept a penny of it,” Kurt assured his dad.

“And it wasn’t even gonna be a thing, I was just gonna see her and make sure she was okay--”

“--but oh my God if you could have seen that first day, it was like real, actual magic, and there was absolutely no way we could just _not_ go back--”

“--so we figured we go back for the summer, like, just until school starts--”

“--and that was all me, and it was a terrible and presumptuous and inappropriate assertion because Noah absolutely wants to be a part of Beth’s life and he really, really should be--”

“--I mean, only if you want, I mean, if that’s okay, but point is ninja-kid’s the one who made it happen but it was totally my idea--”

“--and that’s why we were hanging out all summer and, _Dad_ , were not even remotely dating--”

“--and...what?”

“Nothing.”

Beth waved her blocks in the air and helpfully contributed, “Yeah!”

A beat of silent stares, and all four adults burst out laughing. (Well. Kurt’s dad snorted and stretched his finger and thumb over his mouth, which was basically the same thing.) Shelby held a hand in their direction, as though presenting them on stage. “All summer,” she said with that wide grin that looked an awful lot like Rachel’s, and that just set them off harder, and Kurt frowned at Puck, who frowned back, then they both frowned at Beth, who was giggling along looking thrilled at her newfound superpower, and, what?

Carole finally started to recover, wiping at her eyes and managing through a dwindling chuckle, “Oh, you poor things.” She swatted his dad in the arm. “Burt, you asked him if they were _dating?_ ”

“How was I supposed to know they were top-secret babysitters?” He couldn’t say it with a straight face, and stretched his fingers over his mouth again for a second before moving his hand to point between the two of them. “You make a good case for each other and all, but what I can’t figure out is why you think you’ve got to. Why the big secret?”

He was mostly looking at Kurt, just like Mrs. Puckerman was mostly looking at Puck, and Kurt bit his lip, exchanging another glance with Puck before replying, “Because...as evidenced…” he swept a look around the room, “parents talk to each other. And, generally, to their children.”

The adults stared at him, waiting, and he sighed. “Help?”

Puck took over, surprisingly coherently for someone with a one-year-old trying to climb him like a tree. “We didn’t-- _oof_ \--didn’t think you’d be pi--mad. Well. I dunno,” he amended, glancing at his mother. “But we knew who would be.”

Shelby seemed to get there first, inhaling quietly when she made the connection and then looking...something. Something like a home video over tea while it rained outside.

Kurt lowered his eyes. “Suffice to say that we’ve been put in the position of defending our actions kind of a lot lately.”

“To freaking _everyone--ow_ , chill out, monkey.”

“And we’ve been trying to fix that. With...varying levels of success.” Beth started to whine when Puck drew the line at climbing on his head, and Kurt laid a hand on her back with a murmured, “ _Chut, chérie. Tout va bien_ ,” as the French always seemed to at least distract her. He was unduly proud when she paused her climbing to tilt her head at him. “Hence, you know. Finn.”

“And Quinn.”

“And Rachel.”

“And...yeah.”

Kurt could only hold Carole’s knowingly sympathetic gaze for a second before it was more appealing to hold a staring contest with his socks, and Shelby sighed. “No wonder you two looked so exhausted on Wednesday. You’ve been doing more to earn this reward than anybody knew, huh?”

Reward. She’d said that earlier. Kurt pried his eyes up from the floor, and he and Puck exchanged what felt like their eighteenth glance of the last half hour, this one just this side of clueless. “You don’t need to give us anything, Shelby. I mean, at least not me. I’m just the driver.”

“Dude, whatever.”

Shelby gave Kurt a look. “I’m with Noah on this one. Which is why this is for both of you.” She leaned forward over her crossed legs, folding her hands, and focused on Puck. “First, though, Noah, I owe you an apology. I was underestimating you in a lot of ways, and that wasn’t fair. You’re not me, and the mistakes you make won’t be the same ones I made. Kurt drove out to my house in a downpour to make me see that.” She turned a warm smile on Kurt, then on his dad and Carole. “He did a good job.”

He snuck a peek at them, and his dad looked proud but not surprised, and Carole winked at him, and right, sock-staring-contest rematch, ready set go.

“I’ve already accepted the job in Chicago, and I’ve signed the lease for an apartment. The moving van is rented for Sunday, it’s all signed and sealed. Noah and I have talked about having a Skype-schedule with Beth, but I know it’s not the same as being there.”

Puck’s arms tightened around Beth--and Kurt swallowed, because less than an hour ago he’d been holding Puck in the locker room while he sobbed, _I don’t want her to go_ still echoing between his ears--and Shelby’s softening tone told him she saw.

“So I want to help get you there.”

...Was not what he’d expected Shelby to say. Next to him, Puck tentatively lifted his head.

“When I accepted the job,” she went on, “my plan was to take Beth to the city and not look back, and up until a year ago, that’s how I’d always lived my life. When I made a change, I’d try to forget what was behind me--good and bad. But nothing really goes away, and that’s not what I want to teach Beth. Not about life, and not about people.” She lowered her eyes to Beth, cuddled in Puck’s lap and humming a nameless tune, absorbed in her blocks again while Puck idly stroked her hair. “This is what I want to teach her,” she said, nodding at the touch. “That there are people here who love her, and two in particular who have gone so far above and beyond to show her that. Two people who are kind, and brave, and worthy of her. And that’s not the kind of person that you just leave behind.”

“That,” Beth said, distracting Kurt from figuring out what to even do with a compliment like that by looking up at him and holding out one of her blocks. He absently took it, murmuring a thank-you. “Um, so...what does that mean?”

“Whoa, hold up, are we getting adopted, because that would be messed-up as h--”

“Really, Puck?”

“What?”

Shelby laughed. “No, Noah. Very big no. What I do want to do, with your parents’ permission, is help you guys be able to still see Beth on a regular basis. I’m working with a finite budget for this, but what I’d like to do is cover expenses for you guys to come and see us in Chicago.” She looked at Kurt. “Both of you.”

Puck’s hand stopped moving, coming to rest on Beth’s back. Barely audible, he said, “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Shelby confirmed. “It won’t be every week, and you’ll have to talk with your parents about what means of travel you’d all be most comfortable with, but I’m pretty confident that I can swing a weekend trip for you guys once a month, whether it’s gas money, Megabus tickets, what have you. I can cover a hotel stay, or you can stay with us. Again, up to your parents.” She smiled at Beth, who was standing up on Puck’s lap to study him again, gingerly mapping his face with her hands. “At the very least, we can try it for a few months and figure out what works best.”

Kurt glanced at his dad, a little incredulous. He got a nod in return, and surprised himself with the thrill of excitement that went through him at the thought of it, breaking his face into a smile. “That’s amazing! I mean, that we can come, and that’s really generous, and you don’t even have to pay for it if it’s any trouble, we can figure it out, I mean--”

“Don’t bother, Kurt, I’ve already haggled with one Hummel today. I’m taking care of it and you can’t stop me,” Shelby said, nodding in the direction of his dad, who held up his hands in surrender. “Frankly, I wish I could do more. But if you guys are both okay with it, I really want to help make this happen, and I don’t want there to be any question that I’m on board with you guys. I am. And I’d love for Beth to be able to see her dad, _and_ her favorite uncle, as much as she can.”

Puck lifted up his eyes from Beth’s face, her hands still brushing against his cheeks, and for the first time all day, he smiled.

-

One of the biggest things Kurt was learning from the last few months came in three parts.

First: As far back as he could remember, whenever the people in his life were given the choice to take his side or someone else’s, he had always assumed they wouldn’t choose him.

Second: As far back as he could remember, Puck had seemed to assume the same thing.

Third: They were wrong.

-

Shelby didn’t stay too much longer after they’d accepted her offer, but Kurt had his suspicions that she did stay longer than she strictly needed to. Long enough for Beth to make her way around the room, absorbing attention like the tiny diva Kurt was convinced she’d grow up to be. Long enough for his dad and Puck’s mom to thoroughly embarrass them with toddler-stories (Kurt held that while his Tablecloth Mermaid Princess Phase at age two was not his proudest moment, Toddler Puck still won the Embarrassing Fail Award for wriggling away mid-diaper-change, attempting a dramatic escape via the doggy door, and ending up stuck and pantsless), and for Puck and himself to tell the extremely abridged and censored version of what was going on with some of their friends, which had Puck’s mom sitting up straight, her eyebrows shooting up (“Jacob Ben Israel did what? Oh, I know that boy’s mother. She will be hearing from me.”).

And it was just that. They listened. They weren’t upset, or disappointed, or...he really didn’t know what he’d thought they would be, but whatever it was, they weren’t it. They were just their parents. On their side.

Beth was in Mrs. Puckerman’s arms again when she finally ran out of steam, blinking slowly and curling up with a foot in Puck’s lap, his thumb idly stroking her calf. Shelby was kind enough not to take Beth from them right away, announcing that she’d better be going and taking her time getting her jacket. “So we’re on for tomorrow, right, guys?” she said, brushing imaginary lint from it, slowly and quietly shutting the coat closet door. “McGinty Park, one last Lima hurrah for Beth and her boys?”

Puck nodded, his eyes on the steadying rise and fall of Beth’s back, and Kurt answered for them both, “We’ll be there. And thank you again. Really.”

“You earned it,” she said. “Thank _you_.”

“We could help.”

Kurt followed Puck’s voice, quiet to let Beth sleep, and Puck only looked up after a second. “Sunday. You’re moving. We could help. Like, lift heavy stuff. Or watch Beth. Or…” he glanced between his mom and Kurt’s dad, then dropped his eyes back to Beth, “...something.”

One more day. They could give Puck one more day. “We _are_ friends with half the school football team,” Kurt offered, thinking fast. “We could put the word out, save you some moving expenses?”

“That’s between you and your parents,” Shelby said slowly, taking the safe path. “But you guys know you’re always welcome, whether you’re lifting heavy things or not. I could always use another set of eyes on Beth.”

“We’ll talk,” Kurt’s dad said, and Puck’s mom nodded, and Carole patted his dad on the back, and Kurt exchanged sly-to-smug looks with Puck. _In the bag._

Finally Shelby seemed to run out of ways to stall, and Beth barely stirred as she picked her up. “It was lovely meeting you all. Thanks for having us,” she said, carefully getting Beth’s arms through her jacket sleeves. “You’re raising some really incredible young men, and I hope I’m not the first one to say so. Not every seventeen-year-old would do what these two have done, for each other or for Beth.” She smiled. “I might be calling you for pointers.”

She waved to Puck and Kurt as his dad and Carole got up to see her out, and Mrs. Puckerman rose with them, looking at her watch. “Oh, Noah, it’s almost time to pick up your sister from soccer. I’m going to go let Kurt’s parents know. You just get your things together.”

Puck made an affirmative noise, and she followed Kurt’s dad and Carole outside, and then it was just the two of them left in the living room. Kurt let out his breath, feeling like he’d been holding it, and Puck seemed to sink a little into the back of the couch. “Well,” Kurt said, “that happened.”

“Yeah.” Puck glanced sideways at him. “You good?”

“Hm?”

Puck gestured toward the kitchen with his head. “Your dad and Hudson’s mom. She called them your parents.”

Kurt blinked, replaying the comment in his head. “I...didn’t even notice.”

He took exactly five seconds to flick through the bottomless pit of things he could feel about that, then took another deep breath. Puck was still watching him, and Kurt pressed his lips together and nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Puck eyed him a bit longer before nodding, then hefting himself to his feet, stretching and heading to the kitchen while Kurt followed suit.

“Do you still want to stay tonight?” Kurt asked while Puck slung his jacket back on. “The invitation is still open.”

“Nah,” Puck said, throwing a glance over his shoulder toward the driveway, where his mom was exchanging some parting words with Kurt’s dad and Carole. “She’s finally letting me near the car, better take it while I got it. If I don’t go home, she’ll just call me ten times to ask about shit. Easier if I deal with it in one shot.”

“Yeah.” Kurt followed his gaze and sighed. “I have a feeling I’ve got some explaining to do, too.”

“Noon tomorrow, though, right?”

“I’ll be there at a quarter to.”

“Sweet.”

Puck hovered there for a second, his jaw working like he was chewing on words, and he inhaled, paused, then seemed to give up and let out his breath. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Kurt studied him a second longer, the looseness creeping back into his stance but the weariness of an emotional day written all over him. Quieter, even though no one was in the house to hear, he asked, “You sure you’re okay?”

Puck huffed a breath, stuffing his hands in his pockets and angling to the side. “Puckmeister’s always okay.”

Kurt looked flatly back. “His Illustrious Highness believes you.”

Puck blinked hard and squinted at him, and Kurt lifted an eyebrow. “You want to speak in third-person with questionable nicknames, then that’s what we’ll do.”

Exhaustion was probably the main reason Puck stared at him and then exhaled the closest thing to a real laugh he’d managed all week, but Kurt grinned back with not a little bit of pride anyway. “You laugh. I see a world of missed opportunity.”

Glancing out the window again, where it looked like Kurt’s dad and Carole were heading inside, Puck shook his head and pushed past him. “Dork.”

“Heathen.”

“Your hair’s still screwed up.”

“Stylishly tousled.”

“You wish.” Puck paused in the doorway, glancing at the clock. “Glee club’s over. That song--”

Kurt groaned. “Oh God, screw it. I’m over it. Besides, we skipped today, which means everyone else probably performed their assignments today, which means it will become painfully obvious on Monday that I’m the only one who hasn’t done mine yet. And Gaga forbid I hold us up from our year-long journey into Rachel-Solo-Land.”

“No shit.” Out the window, Shelby had pulled out of the driveway, and Puck’s mom seemed to have finished her goodbyes to his dad and Carole. She met Puck’s gaze through the window, and he nodded, holding out his fist. “Later.”

Kurt bumped it. “See you tomorrow.”

He stayed at the window while Puck went to his mom’s car, passing his dad and Carole on the way and looking startled when Kurt’s dad gave him a clap on the back as he went by. Kurt smiled.

Once the Puckermans were alone, Puck kicked at the ground and spoke barely audibly through the glass, “Look, I know I didn’t tell you, all right, but I swear to God--”

She pulled him into a hug.

He couldn’t quite see Puck’s face, but he stood still, his arms twitching but not moving right away. Then his mom said something--Kurt strained, but couldn’t hear a word--and whatever it was, it lifted Puck’s arms the rest of the way to hug her back, firm and tight. The seconds passed, and they stayed right there.

Kurt jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder. When he looked up, his dad nodded toward the living room, glancing pointedly out the window and back, and Kurt obediently stepped away from his not-totally-appropriate spying, throwing one more glance at the two of them finally pulling away before the drapes closed.

Once back in the living room, he looked from his dad to Carole, mentally gearing up for an extended explanation-session. “May I request a bathroom break before we get to Kurt Explains Himself, Part Two? It’s been kind of a long afternoon.”

Both of them smiled, and his dad shook his head. “No Part Two tonight, kiddo. Go ahead. We’re gonna get dinner started.”

Kurt stared. “...Really?”

“Yeah. When you get back tomorrow, just give us a timetable for Sunday so we know when you’ll be back.” His dad’s mouth quirked. “My kid’s going within ten feet of a toddler by choice. I’m not gonna be the one to fight that.”

Kurt broke into a smile and crossed the few steps to his dad for a hug. “Thanks, Dad.”

His dad patted him on the back and shooed him out with a jerk of the head, and Kurt went to get his bag and took it upstairs, made his bathroom run, and went to his room, leaving the door ajar and flopping into his computer chair. The exhaustion wasn’t unlike what he’d been feeling two days ago after the adventure with Finn, and he muttered to no one in particular, “God, I need a spa day.”

He stayed there with his eyes closed for a bit, trying very hard to think about nothing, before giving up and pulling out the phone he hadn’t checked since lunch. He was greeted with a missed call from Finn and a text from Blaine.

_> > **Blaine:** Project Rock-a-bye is go! \o/ _

He smiled at the text, rolling his eyes because of course Blaine would give it a code name, and sent a quick one back.

_> > **You:** I love you I love you I love you  <3 <3 <3 Will call for details and proper freaking out after I’ve been revived by sustenance & bring it up with Puck tomorrow. Also I love you. xoxoxo _

He’d just set his phone down and started pondering whether attempting a catnap before dinner would be a wonderful or terrible plan when there came the telltale banging and rustling of Finn getting home. He dropped his head to the back of the chair and closed his eyes again, just listening to the sounds of a full house. Pots and pans clattering in the kitchen, two voices talking fondly to each other instead of just his dad muttering to himself about measurements. Finn greeting them and banging around some more, sounding like he was in a hurry. Asking where Kurt was. His mom reminding him to take off his shoes. Finn saying something back, his dad laughing.

Kurt sighed slowly, his lips turning up. They were nice sounds.

He opened his eyes when footsteps thumped up the stairs, and turned his head just in time for Finn to stick his head through the doorway. “Kurt, hey. Can I come in? I’ve got something.”

Kurt lifted an eyebrow, but nodded for him to come in, then sat up straight when he saw what Finn was carrying. “Oh, wow, I completely forgot about that…”

“So did Puck,” Finn said with a shrug, slinging Puck’s guitar case off his shoulder and setting it on the floor before dropping onto Kurt’s bed. “I figured one of us would be seeing him anyway, so we could hold on to it for him.”

“I’ll be seeing him tomorrow.” Kurt carefully picked up the case and propped it against the wall by his bag to make it impossible for him to forget. “Thanks for bringing it, he’d hate it if he didn’t have it for Beth’s last two days here.”

“Uh...about that,” Finn said. “Did I totally mess up by telling Santana Beth was going to be leaving? Was that supposed to be a secret?”

Kurt sighed, shaking his head as he sat down next to Finn. “Puck was going to tell everyone at glee club today, anyway. It’s just as well. I don’t know who it would make a difference to.” He studied Finn, relieved to see no signs of injury. “How did it go over with Santana? After I, you know, abandoned you with her like a terrible brother who should probably be disowned.”

“It’s no big deal,” Finn said, bumping his shoulder. “She didn’t really say that much after you left. I think she felt bad. Just ‘cause one of the things she said was…well, I mean, that’s private, but it was just--”

“I know.” Kurt dropped his eyes to his lap. “Puck told me. Before, I mean. Before today.”

“Oh. Cool. I mean, not cool, but...you know.” Finn caught Kurt’s eye. “Did you find him? Mr. Schue was asking about you guys. Quinn said she saw you, but she didn’t know where you were going.”

Kurt blinked, that strange little moment having almost gotten lost underneath the rest of the afternoon’s drama. “Yeah. I did see Quinn, at the end of the hall. Which...was weird.” He shook his head. “Anyway. Yes, I found him.”

“Was he okay?”

“...Not great,” Kurt admitted. “But he’s doing better.”

“Are you?”

The question caught Kurt by surprise, and he had to take a second to mentally double back. So much of his worrying had been about Puck, but this was the second time today that he’d been asked if he was okay. “I…” Was he? He thought back to a month ago, a week ago, two days ago, and when he did answer, it was the truth. “I am.” He threw a sideways glance back at Finn, smiling a bit. “Are you?”

Finn exhaled with a conceding, lopsided grin. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

They sat for a little bit, their knees idly knocking into each other while cooking-sounds and their parents’ voices echoed up the stairs. “Well,” Kurt said, rocking back to his feet, “I, personally, suggest that we go set the table to stockpile brownie-points with the parents, eat absolutely everything, break for social life, and then reconvene with warm milk and play Halo until we drop. Thoughts?”

Finn grinned, accepting Kurt’s hand to get up, and goodness Kurt had missed him. “Awesome.”

-

It was late when Kurt and Finn finally parted ways for the night, their parents long since gone to bed, and Kurt yawned as he sat down to turn off his computer, but paused when he got a look at the screen, where he’d left Facebook up. At the top of his newsfeed was a status update :

_**Puck Zilla** _   
_hittin up mcginty tmrw wit my baby girl, life is sweet_   
_Mike Chang, Artie ‘Prof X’ Abrams, Tina Cohen-Chang, Lauren Zizes, and 15 others like this_

_Comments:_

_**Puck Zilla:** btw whos got my guitar???_

_**Tina Cohen-Chang:** I think Finn had it in glee today, where were u guys?_

Smiling a little incredulously--because over four months of Beth being the most important part of Puck’s week, he had never posted a word to share that with anyone, not until now--Kurt clicked the _Like_ button, then typed a quick response.

_**Kurt Elizabeth Hummel:** Got it. See you tomorrow._

-

It all felt so normal by now, sitting with Puck and Beth and Shelby, Beth climbing all over Puck and occasionally coming to visit Kurt with her favorite book so he could pull her into his lap and read, that he couldn’t quite wrap his brain around the idea that this would be the last time. The last time here, like this, anyway.

“So my mom says it’s cool for me to come help tomorrow, if you’re still good with that. And Kurt said him and Finn are good, too,” Puck was saying, speaking for them both--Kurt was only half paying attention, busy praising Beth for each pair of Legos she put together and helping her pull them apart when she handed them to him with a polite, “Peas?”--and Shelby nodded while Puck added, “And Finn said he’d check with some of the others, too. And I’m gonna ask my girlfriend--no, seriously, she could benchpress Kurt with like one hand.”

“Unfortunately, I can vouch for that,” Kurt said, sitting back and paying attention when Beth lost interest in the Legos and toddled back to Puck, who promptly picked her up and blew a raspberry against her stomach, making her squeal with laughter. “But we’ll only invite more people if that’s okay with you.”

Shelby laughed. “That’s great, guys. I really appreciate it.” She paused mid-breath when her phone rang, and she lifted it up to look. “Oh, that’s my sister. She was going to check in with me about storing some of the furniture I can’t take along. Will you guys be okay with Beth for a minute?...Or ten?” She grimaced a little. “Annie’s a talker.”

“No problem,” Kurt said at the same time as Puck’s, “No worries,” and Shelby gave them a quick thank-you as she got up and answered her phone.

Beth squirmed out of Puck’s lap after Shelby had gone, and for a little bit, they just watched her.

“She said she’ll Skype me with Beth once or twice a week,” Puck said after a minute, tugging at a few blades of grass. “Can’t do it for a long time or anything, but. Throw in the visit every month, and I guess as far as visiting rights go, it’s dece.” The blades came up by their roots, and he tossed them aside. “‘Least I’ll still get to sing to her. At least whenever my laptop decides to not be shit.”

Off to the side, Beth bent to investigate a patch of clover, and Puck watched her like she was performing miracles.

Kurt cleared his throat. _Project Rock-a-bye is go._

“Did...I tell you the Warblers are making a CD this year?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Well,” Kurt said, lowering his eyes casually to the grass at his feet and wondering why on earth he was feeling timid about this now, “they’re using this recording studio a few miles north of Westerville. They have it on a discount, since Trent called in a favor from his cousin after they sang at his...engagement party, and you don’t care about that and I will get to the point,” he said quickly at Puck’s lifted brow. “Just...I’ve been talking with Blaine and some of the other Warblers, and they said that--if you want to--they could give us a few hours of their recording time. So you could record something of your own.” Puck frowned, and Kurt pointedly added, “Like ‘Tribute.’ Or ‘1234,’ or ‘The Itsy-Bitsy Spider.’” Quieter, “Or ‘Beth.’”

Puck’s eyes widened, and he went very still.

“...If you don’t want to, that’s fine,” Kurt added in a stumble of words when some seconds passed with nothing but that. “It’s just an idea, because that way you could send the CD to Chicago and she’ll still be able to hear you, but I completely understand if that’s not how you want to do it, just, if it’s something you’d maybe want to try--”

“Dude, shut up.”

Soft as it was, Kurt’s mouth still snapped shut.

Puck was looking at him with not quite a frown and not quite something else. “How the hell do you keep doing that?”

“...Meddling? It’s a gift.”

“Nah, dude, I mean, you just...you keep _doing_ this shit, like...no one even tells you to do it, you just… _fuck_.”

Kurt didn’t even see the hug coming, and it cut off his drawn breath before it could turn into ‘I’m sorry.’

Puck did not give hugs like Kurt gave hugs, so it was fast and tight and a bit startling, punctuated by two firm pats on the back. Then Puck was back out of his space, coughing, while Kurt blinked his way to recovery.

“So...I assume that’s a yes?”

Puck grinned with a snorted laugh, turning back toward the clover patch. “Hell yeah, dude, it’ll--”

Puck went abruptly silent, the smile dropping from his face.

Thrown, Kurt followed his gaze, but there was nothing there. “What is it?”

Puck answered with two words that turned Kurt’s blood to ice.

“Where’s Beth?”

Realization cracked over Kurt’s head like a blow, and he looked again at the clover patch, and _there was nothing there_.

Puck was on his feet, and Kurt followed, silently chanting _Don’t panic_ , as that seemed somewhat more constructive than the alternative. “Beth?” he called, not too loudly, she’d probably just wandered to the other side of the tree. “Sweetie?”

“Beth,” Puck echoed, clear and sharp. He circled around the tree, and when he reappeared on the other side, Kurt could see the whites of his eyes. “Where is she?” he asked, his chest starting to heave. “Where the fuck _is_ she?”

“Okay, breathe. Don’t panic,” Kurt heard himself say, because maybe the mantra would work better on Puck than it was working on him. “It’s not a big park, she couldn’t have gotten far. She probably just saw a duck, or a squirrel, or something--”

“She’s not a fucking dog! Beth?”

“Okay,” Kurt said again, because it was not okay, not at all, “let’s split up. You go look by the pond, I’ll take the outer path. We ask anyone around if they’ve seen her, and--”

“There are little kids with brown hair all over the place, how the hell--”

“Royal purple dress with gold buttons, gray striped leggings, pink cardigan, purple and white velcro shoes. Use the colors and patterns, people remember those.” Puck nodded, his throat bobbing in a swallow. “Hold on to your phone, we text as soon as one of us finds her. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Puck threw over his shoulder, already headed toward the pond, and Kurt turned on his heel to take the path, sweeping his gaze across the park grounds and praying he wouldn’t run into Shelby.

Because it was not a big park, and they should have seen Beth by now.

It became a script, more or less, as he flagged each passerby down. _Excuse me, have you seen a little girl, about sixteen months old? She’d have dark, curly hair, and a purple dress with a pink sweater. No? If you do see her, would you please get her to me or him, down by the pond, with the mohawk? That’s her dad. Okay, thank you._

No one had seen her. _How_ could no one have seen her, unless, God, unless--

Just as he was passing the women’s restroom door, he stopped dead.

He knew that cry.

His head whipped toward the restroom door, and he stared at it. Beth was in there, on the other side. That was her cry.

For a second, he nearly stumbled under an absurd rush of hope. Because they still hadn’t seen Shelby, and maybe she had just picked up Beth while Puck was near-tackling him, not wanting to interrupt their moment, and Beth was always fussy for diaper changes and that was why she was crying. And he and Puck were panicking over nothing, and Beth was fine, and it was all completely okay.

On the other side of the door, Beth wailed, and someone shushed her.

Someone, not Shelby.

Kurt’s stomach twisted while the hope winked out. Someone had taken Beth. Someone had _taken Beth_ , and that someone was on the other side of this door, and all he had on him was a plastic first-aid kit and a cell phone he could throw at someone’s head if he really needed to, and-- _oh_ , right, he had a _cell phone_.

He had choices right now. He could be brave and stupid, or he could be safe and horrible.

 _Found her, ladies room_ , he punched silently into his phone, and sent it off to Puck. Then he punched in _911_ and took a deep breath, steeling himself.

Thumb poised over the _Call_ button, he held his breath and pushed open the door.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Puck comes to Kurt for help, and Kurt figures it can’t hurt to do a friend a favor. Unfortunately, everything is more complicated when there’s a baby involved.

It was a choice, not making a dramatic entrance. Granted, a split-second, oh-God-what-do-I-do-um-okay-THAT sort of choice, but a choice nonetheless. Kurt’s life was not a movie, and anyone who would snatch a child right off the grass and take her to a public restroom for God knows what was probably not someone who would take well to being startled. So, no dramatics. Just a push, and a firm step forward to block the doorway, and Beth’s red-faced, wailing reflection in the mirror, and…

Kurt’s mouth fell open, his phone lowering slowly to his side. _Oh_.

She was holding Beth tight, even as Beth howled and wriggled to be put down. She looked small, even with Beth so much smaller, and her hair covered her face as she bent it toward the top of Beth’s head. She didn’t look up when Kurt took another step, letting the door swing shut behind him, and she didn’t look up when he half-whispered her name.

“Quinn.”

She kept her eyes down, shushing over and over into Beth’s hair.

Kurt’s mind raced for the right words and came up empty. “Quinn,” he said again, God Beth was crying so hard and _reaching for him_ and the urge to go straight up and wrench her out of Quinn’s grasp and shield her and sing to her until she calmed was overwhelming. He took a deep breath and focused on the most important thing. “Beth, sweetie, it’s okay. It’s okay, we’re going to take you back to your daddy, all right? _Tout va bien_.”

It didn’t help, and Quinn still hadn’t looked at him. He let his voice drop. “Quinn, what are you doing?”

For a long moment, nothing happened but Beth. Then Quinn lifted her eyes. Not all the way to him, but he could see them now, red and lost.

“She won’t stop crying,” she whispered at last, her voice full, her pretty face threatening to crumble. Beth fought and wailed. Quinn’s eyes shone.

“I carried her,” she murmured, the sound almost lost under Beth’s cries. “She came from me. When she was born, I held her for so long.” Her voice wavered. “I held her for so long, and she won’t stop crying.”

Her voice broke, and her face stretched wide with tears, and she hid her face in Beth’s dark curls. Mother and daughter sobbed, and it echoed off the tile and shot straight into Kurt’s chest to wrench at everything in it.

When his voice worked again, he said, “It’s because she doesn’t know you.”

Quinn curled around Beth tighter, and he refused to feel guilty. “But she _can_ know you, Quinn. If you do it the right way. We can…we can talk to Shelby, you can work something out. But Quinn, you have to give her to me. Right now.”

“I just wanted to hold her,” she said. “Just hold her, just one more time, before she takes her away.”

Kurt frowned. “How did you--”

He thought of the last time he’d seen her.

“…In the hallway,” he slowly answered himself. “That’s what you were doing in the hallway yesterday. You heard Finn tell Jacob.” And Puck had gotten on Facebook last night and told the world where they would be.

It wasn’t really a question, and she didn’t answer. Beth slapped futilely at her shoulders, and Quinn’s face screwed, but she seemed to swallow it back. “I was going to be okay,” she said, full and breaking. “I was okay, I was okay with letting her go. But then you did this.”

She finally lifted her red eyes to Kurt’s face. “You and Noah. You had to make me see her.” She sniffed, tears streaming down. “You made me see her, and she’s perfect, and he got to hold her. Because he lied. He _lied_ , and he got to hold her, and I couldn’t touch her. And it’s not fair.” She inhaled sharply, her voice going high and pinched. “It’s not fair that I don’t get to touch my baby.”

“No,” Kurt agreed, his voice fighting to come out past the lump blocking the way. “No, it’s not, but Quinn, taking her isn’t the answer--”

“I _wasn’t_ going to take her,” Quinn shot back, and Beth’s cries rose in pitch and volume, and she was scared and he wasn’t making it all better fast enough. Quinn looked helplessly at Beth’s red face.

Kurt was not helpless. “I know, honey. Just look at me, Beth, okay? Look at Uncle Kurt.” Beth did, and her eyes and nose were streaming and her volume was piercing and she reached for him again, and he needed her in his arms _now_. He looked sharply back at Quinn and stepped forward, his chest tightening and his voice trembling a little when he used it. “Quinn, she’s scared. _Please_.”

Quinn’s wet eyes lingered on Beth’s hand reaching over her shoulder in his direction, then slowly rose to him. There was so much in them that it hurt a little to look back. It wasn’t until Kurt’s mind was already racing forward to the phone still in his hand, and the number it was ready to dial, and if it would really come to threatening her with the police, that she finally animated.

She turned toward him, and he reached out, and she almost didn’t let go, and then she did.

“Oh, God,” Kurt heard himself gasp as he pulled Beth to him, shifting to hold her as close as he could while she clung to him and muffled her cries in his shoulder. Automatically he started bouncing her just a little, the way she liked. “Okay. All right, sweetie, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

Quinn watched him, watched Beth, dripped tears. “I just wanted to hold her.”

Kurt lifted his cheek from Beth’s head, and he had no idea what would have come out of his mouth if the restroom door had not flown open and hit the wall with a bang. “Beth!”

Puck’s bandaged fists were clenched, his eyes wild, and he only faltered for a second at the sight of Quinn before Kurt said, “I’ve got her.”

He whipped his head in their direction, and Beth lifted hers, and she immediately reached for Puck with both arms and sobbed out one word.

“ _Daddy_.”

The moment Puck’s expression broke, the moment Beth called him by that name and he heard it and it was suddenly everything he was, was something Kurt would never forget.

He handed over Beth without another word. The second Puck had her, he was clutching her tight to his chest, her chubby arms clinging to his collar, their faces buried in each other’s necks. “Right here, baby-girl,” he might have said, though it was muffled and hard to tell. “Daddy’s got you.”

Kurt looked away, because he was emotional by nature and _God she’s okay she’s here she’s safe_ and Puck sounded a little too much like Kurt’s dad on a very bad day nine years ago, and there were enough crying people in this restroom. Instead, he dared a glance at Quinn. She was still crying, but he wasn't sure she'd noticed. Her arms hung limp at her sides.

Reconciling the Quinn of now with the Quinn singing out bitterness in the choir room, with the Quinn whose hand-mark he could sometimes swear he still felt on his cheek and the Quinn whose phantom weight he could still feel tucked under his arm in the dark, was easier than he wished it would be. Of course it was. All of those Quinns were this.

Puck breathed Beth in once more, twice, then kissed the side of her head and slowly lifted his eyes. They met Quinn’s, his face grave, as serious as Kurt had ever seen it, and Kurt glanced uncertainly between them.

Puck didn’t yell. He didn’t speak. He waited.

After a long few seconds of watching them with something like loss, Quinn said softly, “It was supposed to get better.” She tried for a deep breath. “I knew seeing her would make it worse. I knew. But I thought if I could just touch her…”

She looked at Puck so differently than she had looked at Kurt. Even angry, even crying, she looked at Puck like they were in this together. Two more tears rolled down. “It was supposed to get better. I was supposed to be okay again.”

 _I thought once I saw her again, it wouldn’t feel like this anymore,_ Puck echoed in Kurt’s memory.

Puck was shaking his head, and Quinn’s face threatened to break again. “But I’m not,” she said, her voice wavering, her eyes shining. “I’m really not okay.”

She exhaled fast, fighting the tears hard, and Puck finally spoke.

“I know.”

She took another shaky breath.

“We don’t get to be okay,” Puck said, “because we had her, and we gave her away.”

She sniffed. “You didn’t want to.”

“Wasn’t my call.”

“I wasn’t going to take her. I just…”

“I know.”

“I just made her cry.”

“You scared her.” Puck shifted Beth on his hip, and she was calm now, still tear-streaked but quietly observing them all with her fingers curling into Puck’s shirt collar. “She’s okay now.”

Quinn looked at Beth, looked at her the way Puck did, and Kurt didn’t belong in this conversation. He looked at the floor, at the mirror, at the door.

“Hummel.” He started a little, but Puck’s eyes were still on Quinn. “Go make sure Shelby’s not freaking out, will you?”

Kurt didn’t move right away, briefly following Puck’s gaze. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. We’re good. Be out in a minute.”

Swallowing, Kurt nodded. “Friendly reminder that you’re in the women’s restroom right now. Questions may arise.”

“It’s cool.” Finally Puck glanced at him. “Thanks.”

Kurt blinked, a little thrown, but Puck was already back to Quinn, gesturing with his head. “Come here.”

Quinn hesitantly crossed to him, and Kurt turned away, heading for the exit. He couldn’t help glancing at them one more time at the door, just long enough to see Beth’s hand curl tentatively around Quinn’s index finger. To see Quinn make it halfway to a tremulous smile before lowering her head the last half-inch to Puck’s shoulder with a whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Puck’s free arm started to curl around her shoulders in reply, and Kurt left them alone, because this wasn’t his.

Once back in the sun and fresh air and noise of the park, Kurt took a second to lean on the wall next to the restroom door and let out his breath in a rush. “Okay,” he muttered to the universe. “No more heart attacks, please. We can be done now.”

“Kurt?”

Kurt jumped halfway out of his skin, threw a skyward glare at the stupid rude universe, and lowered his gaze to Shelby. Crap. “Hi, sorry, spacing out. While talking to myself. It’s a thing I, um. Do.”

She studied him. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Kurt said in a too-quick and unfortunate soprano. He cleared his throat. “Why?”

Slowly, she replied, “Because your eyes just got kind of huge.”

“Ah. Yes. They, ah, do that. No problems, though.” He plastered on a smile that he hoped was charming and not screaming, _So we sort of lost your baby but got extremely lucky that the kidnapper was someone we knew and not one of the crazy baby-snatchers off of CSI, oh God why I am thinking of CSI that show is about murderers oh God--_

“Okay,” she said, looking unconvinced. “Where are Noah and Beth?”

Crap crap crap he should have run lines. “Um--”

“Here,” came Puck’s voice from behind him, and Kurt nearly slumped with relief. A second, and Puck was next to him, Beth in tow. “My bad. Just had to deal with something.”

Shelby stared at Puck, then frowned at the door he’d come from. “What were you--” She looked between them, halfway between amused and concerned. “You guys do know they have changing tables in the men’s room, too, right?”

Kurt glanced warily at Puck, who glanced warily back, but before Kurt’s mind could get started panicking about whether it would be worse to tell the truth or a lie, the restroom door opened again and saved him from having to decide.

“Ms. Corcoran?”

Shelby’s face opened up, and Kurt avoided eye contact when Quinn paused next to him.

“I’m sorry,” Quinn said, her voice barely there, but she inhaled deep, and when she spoke again it was stronger. “I can explain.”

“Quinn,” Shelby murmured. “What--”

“Uh, hey, Shelby?” Puck shifted Beth up on his hip, glancing briefly at Quinn. “It cool if me and Kurt just take Beth around until she chills out?”

Next to Kurt, the air around Quinn relaxed just a little, and oh, all gold stars for Puck today. “Yeah,” Kurt agreed. “You two can talk for a minute. We’ll stay on the path.”

Shelby took a long moment to look between the three of them, then slowly nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, go ahead.”

Kurt nodded and followed when Puck started down the path.

They were quiet for a little while, until the women were well out of hearing range. Kurt glanced to Puck, who was still holding Beth tight, his eyes low and far away. “Is she okay?” Puck glanced up, and Kurt added, “Quinn, I mean.”

Puck dropped his gaze to the ground again. “Take a guess.”

“You didn’t seem that surprised.”

“Wasn’t.” Puck squinted at him. “How’d you know it was her?”

“Hm?”

“She was already in the bathroom when we split up, or we would have seen her. How’d you figure out it was her?”

“Oh.” Kurt studied his cuticles. “I, ah. You know. Didn’t.”

Puck stopped mid-step and stared at him. “Wait, what?”

“I passed by the restrooms and heard Beth crying. I couldn’t tell who was with her.” Kurt shrugged. “I went to get her.”

“Wait, wait, hold _up_. You _didn’t know_ it was Quinn, it could have been some psycho baby-snatcher with a piece in there, and you freaking _went in anyway?_ ”

Right, the part Kurt had been trying not to think about. “…I had my phone.”

“What were you gonna do, chuck it at ‘em? Thought you were supposed to be smart or something. That was some fucking Chuck Norris shit, dude!”

“Beth, don’t listen to Daddy, he says vulgar and uncivilized words when he gets overexcited,” Kurt said, angling some visible judgement in Puck’s direction before catching up with the rest of the sentence. “Wait. Are we… _happy_ that I exercised Gryffindor-judgement at the peril of all involved?”

Puck huffed something like a laugh. "You kidding? That's metal as _hell_. Right, baby-girl?" he said, his voice sliding up in pitch while he caught Beth's eye. "Gotta give our boy his props. Let's see it. _Props_ ," he said, demonstrating holding up a fist. She watched, then followed his gaze to Kurt and held up a tiny fist. "Pop!"

Kurt lost it a little, right along with Puck, and gently tapped her fist with his. " _Merci beaucoup, ma petite_."

They stopped on the bridge, Puck leaning forward with Beth to let her see the fish, and Kurt glanced back toward Shelby and Quinn. “What do you think they’re talking about?”

Puck shrugged, eyes on the water. “Probably her contract. Or how kidnapping’s bad. Whatever hot bio-moms that give up their bio-kids talk about.”

Kurt turned away from them and rested his elbows on the rail next to Puck. “You’re raging less than I’d have expected.” Puck shrugged. “What happened in there?”

“Nothing,” Puck muttered. “It’s not like I’m not pissed, but.” He frowned, shook his head. “I get it.”

He left it at that, and Kurt mulled it over before letting it go when Beth grabbed on to his thumb, and the three of them watched the water for a while before staying quiet got too difficult.

"There is one point where I disagree with you," Kurt said.

"Shocker."

Kurt threw him a look, if a short-lived one. "When you said that giving Beth to Shelby means neither of you get to be okay?" Puck's jaw worked, and Kurt idly swung Beth's hand back and forth. "I don't think that's true."

"Like you know," Puck muttered.

"I just think,” Kurt said, taking a second to find the words, “facing an impossible decision and making a call, or stepping aside to let Quinn make it…that isn't something that deserves punishment."

"Well, guess what, we're getting it anyway." Beth let go of Kurt's thumb to point at a pair of ducks crossing under the bridge, and Puck's gloom dropped away for a moment as he followed her gaze. "Remember what sound a duck makes, Bethie-boo?" She tilted her head at him, and he ducked his head and quacked into her neck, making her shriek a laugh. Puck came away with a smile that faded as soon as he straightened. "We decided to give her away, so we lose her. That's us doing our time."

He looked out over the water, and Beth did the same, and she had never looked more like she was his. Kurt looked between them and carefully asked, "Do you regret it?" Puck's eyes lowered, but not to him. "If Quinn had kept Beth, do you think it would be better?"

Puck didn't answer right away, his eyes on the water, then on Beth. He breathed in and out, then shook his head.

"Hell if I even know what the right thing is anymore," he murmured. "All I know is I suck at doing it."

Kurt smiled faintly at him. “You’re better at it than you think you are.” He turned nonchalantly away. “You picked out that outfit all by yourself, for one. I see progress.”

Puck huffed, and it was tired, but there was something like a smile in it. “Shut up.”

“Just saying.”

Puck rolled his eyes and left it, and they watched the water until Shelby was rather suddenly beside them, looking a little weary but less vengeful-mama-grizzly than he had been afraid of. “Hey.”

Kurt looked up and around, but Quinn was gone. Puck straightened up, quietly asking Beth if she was ready to see Mama before handing her off to Shelby. She studied Beth’s face, sleepy but no longer tear-stained, and kissed her forehead before settling her against her shoulder. “So, you three had some excitement this afternoon.”

Puck lowered his eyes, and Kurt bit his lip. “If we’re in the trouble I suspect we’re in, know that it was mostly my fault. I distracted Noah, and—“

“And got her back,” Puck finished for him, quiet and final.

Shelby held up a hand. “Don’t panic. Quinn told me enough.” She looked between the two of them for a moment that stretched, then seemed to come to a decision with herself and nodded toward their spot by the clover. “Come on. We should probably figure out how we’re going to feed the half-football-team you two will be bringing to help with the move tomorrow.”

Kurt let out a breath he hadn’t meant to hold, and Puck’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “Cool.”

They went back and sat down, and Puck picked Beth a clover, and suddenly there the end was. The end of this part, with the four of them. Not here yet, but visible, tangible, coming at them fast, and then…

Beth held Puck’s clover out to Kurt, and he weaved it carefully into her hair.

And then we keep going, he reminded himself, leaning down by Beth and taking a star-struck pose with her when Puck lifted his phone to take a picture of her with her clover. Puck huffed a laugh as he snapped it, and Shelby smiled at the three of them, and Kurt started plotting out Beth’s playlist in his head.

They would keep going.

After dropping Puck off and receiving a few last words of wisdom for his trouble ( _“Seriously though. If you pull some shit like that again and get your ass kicked, I’m kicking your ass.”_ ), Kurt pulled back into his own driveway. A few steps later, he was dropping down next to his dad on the couch, dropping his head back to blink tiredly at the ceiling, reasonably certain that he’d been exhausted for at least a month straight now.

“How’d it go?” his dad asked after a second, and Kurt heaved a deep sigh.

“Everything is hard,” he said to the ceiling. “And everyone is complicated, and I’m starting to think that the only reason anything seems simple is because I haven’t looked at it hard enough yet.”

His dad’s arm wrapped around his shoulders and squeezed. “Welcome to the big leagues, kiddo.”

“It’s exhausting.” Kurt let his head loll to the side, looking at his dad and maybe pouting a little. “Don’t suppose I could just opt-out of this emotional maturity thing?”

“You could,” his dad conceded with a slow nod. “But you won’t.”

Kurt sighed. “Yeah.”

He dropped his head to his dad’s shoulder and stayed for a while.

-

_> > **Puck:** yo gleeotchs tmrw 12pm come help us move shit or ill kick ur asses. address incoming_

_> > **You:** He means: we’re helping Shelby  & Beth move, and can offer pizza & salad & lemonade + time with an adorable baby if you join us. :) There will be no ass-kicking._

_> > **Puck:** what he said_

_> > **Puck:** exept not really srsly show up or ill fckn find u_

_> > **You:** Still included on the mass text, Puck._

_> > **Puck:** wtf dont do ur ninja shit on my phone dude_

_> > **You:** Don’t blame me for being swift as a coursing river._

_> > **Puck:** what_

_> > **You:** With all the force of a great typhoon._

_> > **Puck:** ...what_

_> > **Sam:** with all the strenght of a rAGING FIRE_

_> > **Mike:** MYSTERIOUS AS THE DARK SIDE OF_

_> > **Tina:** THE MOOOOOON!!!!!!_

_> > **Puck:** W T F_

_> > **You:** LMAO. Stiiill on a mass text._

_> > **Artie:** dammit people, you couldn’t save the disneyspam until after a guy’s out of the bathroom? 8(_

_> > **David K:** ……………………….…...is this rly what u guys do all the time_

_> > **Kurt:** Yes._

_> > **Artie:** yep_

_> > **Tina:** pretty much_

_> > **Puck:** what of it_

_> > **David K:** calm ur shit suckerman just asking. dont put dishonor on my cow or anything_

_> > **Sam:** SNAP_

_> > **You:** Yep. You can stay. :)_

-

A blink later--and Kurt was certain all he’d done was blink, maybe twice if he was feeling generous--he was back at Shelby’s, watching Lauren Zizes heft Shelby’s TV onto one shoulder, like that was a thing people should be able to do, and feeling suddenly and grossly inadequate.

Another blink, and he was navigating one end of the dining table through the living room toward the front door, smiling at the sight of Artie calling, “All aboard the trouble-train, woo woo!” as he wheeled a delighted Beth across the floor in his lap and Sam’s voice going goofy as he played the train conductor, and when Kurt glanced at Dave across the table so they could resume their task, Dave smiled faintly back.

Blink, and Beth’s cheek is resting on his shoulder while he paces slowly across her empty nursery, humming the only song he could possibly choose for his assignment tomorrow, her hair brushing his chin.

Blink, and Shelby is saying her goodbyes, looking Puck pointedly in the eye when she says she’ll be seeing them soon. As soon as Puck has hugged Beth for a year or three and buckled her into her car seat and stepped away, Kurt sets a hand on his shoulder because that’s the hardest thing he’s ever seen someone do. Puck lets him.

Eyes closed, eyes open, and the moving truck has vanished around the corner, and Kurt is taking a deep breath and pulling it together.

He turned to those of the group who had decided to hang around after, throwing on a smile. “Thanks for the help, all. We’re in your debt.”

“Nah, it was fun!” Tina said, linking arms with him. “Besides, Mike and I are getting our prize already. Meet you at Breadstix?”

Kurt stared at her for half a second before remembering, right, that was today. The two of them distracting Rachel so he could kidnap Finn to Shelby’s felt like it had happened years ago. “But of course. Lead on, Asian Fusion.”

With a “Yay!” and a squeeze of his arm, Tina went to drag Mike to the car while Finn turned into a six-foot-three-inch pair of puppy-eyes and Artie and Sam stared at Kurt in identical open-mouthed betrayal. “Hold up,” Artie said, lifting up both hands. “They get Breadstix?”

“How come we don’t get Breadstix?”

“Now I really want Breadstix…”

To his credit, Dave only lifted an eyebrow at him.

Looking between the four of them, Kurt heaved a resigned sigh. “Belching contests in my car will not be tolerated. _Or_ farting,” he said over the triumphant noises and high-fives, “you hold it in or I throw you out. And no mud on the...and no one is listening.”

He rolled his eyes and turned toward Puck, who had wandered a little away from them to watch the front door of the empty house and hadn’t said a word. “Care to join us?”

It seemed to take a second for Puck to notice he was being spoken to. He blinked at Kurt, then shook his head. “Nah.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, dropping his gaze. “Not feeling it.”

“Sure he is,” Finn said, taking his place next to Puck and clapping a hand on his shoulder, smiling his Quarterback Superhero smile. He aimed it at Puck and softened it, ignoring the side-eye he got in return. “Come on, dude. It’s on us.”

Puck pressed his lips together, then glanced from face to face, looked at the front door, looked at the ground. He let out his breath. “Yeah, okay, whatever. Shotty.”

Finn grinned. “Sweet! Kurt, can you open it up? Artie’s chair can fit in the trunk, right?”

Kurt unlocked the car, popped the trunk, and indulgently met Finn’s low-five as he passed, but stayed back while Finn and Sam went about helping Artie, Dave heading to his own car to meet them there (or possibly to have an escape plan--he couldn’t quite tell whether Dave had been handling their weirdness remarkably well or it he’d just been going to a happy place in his mind until he could run for the hills). Puck’s hands were still shoved in his pockets, his eyes back on the front door.

He didn’t move when Kurt stopped next to him. Almost under his breath, Puck said, “It’s weird.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s empty in there.”

Kurt nodded. “It is weird.” Weird, because if he thought about it too hard, he was pretty sure it was yesterday that they had stared at that door for the first time, and Kurt had rung the doorbell, and Puck had almost run away. Weird, because they probably wouldn’t have any reason to come back.

Looking at Puck, he said, “If you really want some time to yourself, it’s okay. I can defend your life choices to the horde.”

He shook his head. “Nah. If I go home, my mom’ll want to talk about feelings or some shit. And if she doesn’t, I’ll just end up thinking. I do stupid shit when I think.”

“The things I could say.”

“Shut your face.”

There wasn’t much fire to it, and Kurt rolled his eyes. They both looked back when Finn called that they were ready, and Kurt slung his bag back into place on his shoulder and caught Puck’s eye. “Come on.”

One last look at the door, and Puck took a breath and turned away. Kurt turned with him, patting him on the back as they headed for the car. He got in the driver’s side, and Puck got in the passenger seat. They shut the doors.

There were faces in the rear-view mirror now, Finn and Artie and Sam all crammed in the backseat and already talking over each other about the top items on the Breadstix menu, but it didn’t feel so different, really. Puck’s seatbelt clicked into place, and Kurt pulled away from the side of the street. Puck didn’t look at the house again as they passed it, instead keeping his eyes on his knees.

“Hey,” Kurt said under the backseat-noise, and Puck glanced up. “When we’re done, remind me to run a glee-song by you for tomorrow.”

Puck nodded with a muttered, “Likewise,” just as Finn punched the back of his seat to rope him into the debate, and Kurt faced forward again. He turned the corner, and the mirror caught the blue of the house’s front door, and then it was gone.

-

_> > **You:** I spent 20 minutes holding Beth today and now she’s in Chicago and Puck’s going to sing a song for her and the song choice might kill me and I am having feelings._

_> > **Blaine:** I’m sorry babe :( Need phone call?_

_> > **You:** …I might cry hysterically. Or break into an overly-sentimental ballad. Or both. Probably both._

_> > **Blaine:** I love it when you sing overly sentimental ballads, and I’ll still love you if you’re crying hysterically. I can’t promise I won’t end up crying hysterically with you, though…_

_> > **You:** Weepy Boy and Sympathy-Crier. We’re like the world’s worst superhero team._

_> > **Blaine:** OMG our capes could be giant handkerchiefs! :D_

_> > **Blaine:** KURT. YOU OWN UNITARDS. OMG._

_> > **You:** Blaine, once again, I am not making us superhero costumes._

_> > **Blaine:** Ah, you’ll be here in a week. I’m sure I can convince you ;)_

_> > **Blaine:** Puck’s definitely okay with doing the recording next weekend, right?_

_> > **You:** Oh yes. We were talking playlists earlier. He’ll enjoy the distraction. Finn’s going to be coming too, and we may have another temporary visitor as well._

_> > **Blaine:** Ooh, I love it when you’re cryptic. Who is it?_

_> > **You:** Phone call incoming. It’s a long story._

-

The thing was, Kurt had mentally prepared for this. As well as he was usually able to hide it, getting up in front of a group had always been a nerve-wracking thing for him, even when that group was made up entirely of his friends. An unfortunate side effect of getting pushed around for sticking out, not that he would give anyone credit for that. Kurt loved to sing, and he loved having the spotlight—that didn’t mean it wasn’t also terrifying.

Which is why, walking up to the front of the choir room, the last of the group to perform for the assignment, about to sing in a completely different style than his usual and knowing full well that there were still individuals in the audience who weren’t happy with him, he was surprised to find that he was weirdly…not-terrified.

He didn’t need to turn around and pretend to shuffle sheet music on the piano while he breathed out the stomach-butterflies, the way he usually did. He didn’t feel the automatic defensiveness that usually made him straighten his back and look down his nose at his audience (not that that was any excuse for poor posture, of course). Puck pulled up a stool and did a quick tune of his guitar strings, and Kurt looked out at the rest of the club, calm and comfortable.

He hadn’t even prepared a pre-song speech. This one just sort of happened.

“This assignment, as we well know, was to sing about our summers. And my summer wasn’t anything I had expected it to be,” he began, “for a lot of reasons. I won’t go into all of them. Most of you know.” He looked at all of them, left to right. No one looked away. “But the most important thing about the summer was that it taught me a lot about family. What it can be, and what it should be. What it shouldn’t be. What it can look like.”

He took a slow breath. “Some of them were things I already knew, but not…well enough. This summer showed me that family isn’t straightforward. Sometimes what you started with isn’t where you end up. It showed me how perfectly logical it can be for someone to have two moms and one dad and a sister or brother who isn’t, and to be loved by so many more people than that. That a mother doesn’t stop being a mother just because she isn’t your first one.” He glanced at Finn, who beamed back. “That we aren’t doomed to become our parents, and we can choose what we do, even if we can’t choose who we are. And…other things in that general vein.”

Kurt cleared his throat. “In short, the moral of my summer was that nothing is more complicated than family, and nothing can hurt like family does, but also that nothing can heal like it does. And I wouldn’t have seen that if it hadn’t been for one person in particular. So, first and foremost, this song is for her.” He scanned his audience once more. “But not only for her.”

He turned and nodded to Puck, who looked back with an expression he couldn’t read before playing the opening [strum](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qDZjbEUPkD4&t=0m11s). Kurt breathed deep, and began.

It wasn’t a song he would have chosen a year ago, or even six months ago, and it was a bit off to the side of his wheelhouse, but if he could sing Tenacious D, he could certainly pull off acoustic coffeehouse-rock. He scaled back his tone, relaxed it a little, sang it the way he would sing it to Beth.

She’d liked it when he’d sung it to her the day before, at no-longer-Shelby’s. It had reminded him of _Edelweiss_ , a little. She’d kept watching him as he had slowly walked her from one end of the room to the other, singing at half-voice, trying out keys and styles and transpositions. Just the two of them.

 _“What to do about the second verse,”_ he’d murmured after working through the first one. The second verse was problematic, because it wasn’t true. _“I hope you know that, Beth,”_ he’d said. _“He isn’t walking away from you. If he had it his way, he would stay with you forever.”_ She had stared at him with big eyes--hazel, Shelby had been right--and he had flashed on his dad telling him the same thing about his mom after the phone call, after the tears. Resting his cheek on Beth’s hair, he’d said softly, _“It would be so nice if mommies and daddies never had to leave.”_

He’d made it work. Changed more lyrics than he generally liked to, but it worked. It actually added something to the song, in his personal opinion, to change ‘him’ to ‘them,’ and ‘she’ to ‘we.’

The only other change he made was for Puck, not that he’d told him that. Just a little three-word addition, the second time through. _On behalf of every man, looking out for every boy and every girl, you are the God and the weight of their world._

Okay, four words. He dared John Mayer to come and throw down the gauntlet.

And there were points at which he carefully didn’t look at Quinn ( _girls become lovers, then turn into…_ ) and points at which he carefully did not look at Rachel ( _so mothers, be good to your…_ ), but he wasn’t really thinking about who was watching, or what they were thinking. This was his summer, and this was his song, and all the things that had been weighing him down at the end of the summer just…weren’t anymore.

He hadn’t seen Quinn since his last glimpse of her at the park, and while she looked a little gaunt and far away, the waves of hate-energy he’d been feeling from her earlier in the month were long gone. She sat alone, a couple of rows behind Santana and Brittany. Santana...Kurt had no idea what was going on there, but she and Puck had both been suspiciously late to lunch that day, and while Puck had just shaken his head when Kurt asked, Kurt was pretty sure her hate-energy was...well, closer to its normal level.

He and Mercedes had ended their last conversation on an uncertain note, but she had said hi to him (if a bit coolly) when he’d walked into the choir room, so there was hope. And yesterday Finn had assured him that Rachel had been talking a lot with her dads about the Shelby situation, and that while she wasn’t feeling _great_ about anything, she was at least starting to figure out who she was really upset with, and Finn didn’t think it was Kurt.

Nothing tied up in a neat little bow--and he did love a neat little bow in his life now and then--but it was all...okay. Shifting. None of them were standing still.

So he sang, and he finished, and when his cheering section of Tina-Mike-Artie-Finn-Sam-Lauren whooped and whistled for him over the at-least-didn’t- _look_ -ironic applause from the rest of the group, he smiled and took a bow.

Mr. Schuester was still clapping as he came to join him at the front, looking somewhere between pleasantly surprised and just relieved at a not-passive-aggressive song choice, and congratulated him on his exploration of different singing styles before taking the floor. Stepping off to the side by the stool, Kurt bumped Puck’s shoulder with his elbow. “Now’s your chance.”

“I was getting there,” Puck hissed back at him, then shook out his shoulders and raised his hand. “Mr. Schue?” he said, just barely beating Mr. Schuester’s start-of-motivational-speech hand-clap. “Hey. I know we’ve been on this assignment for like a month, but I’m gonna need a redo.”

Mr. Schuester pressed his lips together, and Kurt knew that expression, and that wouldn’t do. “Puck, I really think we should be moving on. Sectionals are going to be—“

“‘Cause I did it wrong,” Puck said, loud enough that Mr. Schuester paused. “Before. We’re supposed to sing about our summer. I sang something to get back at someone for pissing me off. That’s not what my summer was about.” He stood from the stool, shoulders back and chin high, and somehow looked taller than before. “My summer was about Beth.”

Mr. Schuester’s expression shifted as he made the connection, and Puck turned toward the rest of the club. “Some of you guys know that, but some of you don’t get it yet. It wasn’t about me being an ass, it wasn’t about going behind anyone’s back, it sure as hell wasn’t about any of you. It was about her.” He fearlessly met each gaze. “It was about getting her back. Being able to see her, talk to her, hold her. It was learning how to deal with caring about someone that much, and knowing that none of the bullshit I do is ever going to be anywhere close to how important she is. It was figuring out that I’m not a lost cause, because I can make her laugh, and getting over how I can’t always get her to calm down, but Hummel can do it just by spouting some Frenchie moonspeak at her.”

Kurt let out a breathy laugh along with some of the others, his chest aching along with the back of his throat.

“And it was about letting her go.” Puck swallowed hard. “And figuring out how to trust that we’ll get each other back, over and over again. Because when you’re tethered to someone that tight, that’s what you do.”

No one said a word. Puck’s gaze lingered a second longer on the group, catching briefly on Quinn, whose eyes were conspicuously bright, before he turned it back to Mr. Schuester.

“I want to sing about that.”

Fighting down his hug-and-cry instincts, Kurt looked out at the rest of the club. Finn grinned knowingly back at him, drumsticks and brushes already in hand, and the rest of the cheering section mirrored him, because even if they hadn’t been told exactly what Puck was going to do, they knew why he wanted to do it. Kurt smiled back at them. “All in favor of letting the man sing?”

Puck sang.

-

Four days, nine attempts (eight failures) at playlist-planning, and one quiet conversation on which Kurt absolutely hadn’t been eavesdropping later, Saturday came.

“Shotty!”

“Wha--dude, no, I’m the tallest one, I barely even fit in the back seat!”

“I don’t make the rules, glee-otch!”

“You sat up there last weekend! Kurt, dude, tell him I--”

“Don’t bring me into this. I am starting the car. I hope one or both of you are inside it when I drive away in ten, nine, eight--”

“Puck, dude, come on!”

“--six, _five_ , oh my God, really?”

“The rules of shotgun are simple and finite, yo.”

“--thr...Puck, did you just reference _Legally Blonde_?”

“No.”

"Sooo, I'm just gonna--"

"Whoa, hell no, dude! He who calls shotty, _gets_ shotty!"

"...Two one. Ta-ta."

"Wha-- _whoa!_ "

"Okay, okay, I'll sit in back, stop the car!"

"I warned you. Noah, get in and move your seat up for Legs McFrankenteen. Finn, your pouting privileges are officially revoked. If we get halfway there and I need to separate you two, one of you may end up on the side of the road. Decide now that you're not going to give me _any_ reason for that person to be you."

"Geez, fine. Can I at least put some tunes on, _Mom_?"

"Yes, but my car, my music. You break it, you walk. Everywhere. Forever."

"Yeah, yeah...aw, sweet! This is my jam, yo."

"Did we bring snacks?”

"It's a two-hour drive, Finn."

"...So did we?"

"Hold on to your eardrums, kids. [Crankin'](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Ww-8jvxT5Q) it."

Two hours and a whole lot of backup-singing later, Kurt pulled into the studio parking lot with a faint ringing in his ears and a new appreciation for every responsible adult who had ever endeavored to take small children on a road trip.

-

The Playlist was the product of Kurt and Puck more or less living at each other’s houses for the last week, occasionally with a Finn thrown in, going through every song they had sung to Beth over the summer, adding the ones they’d each thought about but not tried, growing the list even more when they included potentially-appropriate songs they’d done in glee club in the past, and then crossing out the no-goes and arguing about the maybes and starring the winners of each round of narrow-down. It was all Kurt could do to keep up with Puck now; there was something driven and a little manic about how Puck jumped in, how quick he was to bounce back after they’d crumpled up yet another attempt and how hard he would push back if he didn’t agree.

 _“It’s got to be perfect,”_ he’d said at one point, and Kurt the Perfectionist could work with that.

_“Oh, it will be.”_

It was worth their hard work, though, when Kurt had printed out the carefully-formatted and embellished final product, and both of them had looked it over and exchanged grins that said, _This is it._

It was even more worth it now, as they worked their way down the list, Kurt stepping into the booth with Puck here and there to duet or accompany on the piano, but mostly sitting curled up with Blaine and hearing their playlist come to life.

Much debate had gone down on Puck’s futon about whether anyone other than Puck should be featured, and ultimately they had compromised on including three bonus tracks at the end. For the first of them, Kurt was the one stepping up to the microphone while Puck got settled with his guitar.

It hadn’t been a decision anyone had discussed, the idea of saying something to Beth about who they were and the songs they would be singing, but it seemed to make sense, giving Beth some context for all these other voices. Kurt had spent a good long while at his desk trying to write something out, but in the end had just scrapped it. The summer had taught him that he could wing it pretty well when he put his mind to it.

“ _Bonjour, ma petite_ ,” he began, smiling. “I’m who you hopefully still know as Uncle Kurt. This is the first song I ever sang to you on my own, to help you go to sleep.” Interestingly, it was Puck who had insisted on this song, with a surprising amount of fervor. “It’s a song my mom used to sing to me, and it really helps me feel better when I’m worried about something, or when I can’t sleep. I hope it can make you feel better sometimes, too.” He started to lift his hand to signal Puck to start, but paused. “This is your dad on the guitar, by the way.”

He signaled Puck then, and Puck rolled his eyes to ineffectively hide his pleased grin as he started to [strum](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tVyxL6AsziA).

The Warblers and Finn applauded once he’d finished and they’d stopped recording, and Kurt stayed in the booth, moving to the piano. Puck got up, slung his guitar around to his back, and clapped Finn on the shoulder as they swapped places.

Finn didn’t approach the microphone right away, taking in the booth and the sound equipment and the glass, looking not a little bit intimidated.

“Finn,” Kurt said softly, and Finn turned wide eyes on him. Kurt smiled back. “You know how to do this.” He wiggled his fingers over the piano keys, just like he had two years ago in the auditorium, back when he was so thrilled to be bonding with The Hot Quarterback Who Was Nice to Him. “We both do.”

Finn let out his breath, the side of his mouth turning up. His shoulders started to relax. “Yeah. Yeah, we do.”

He stepped up to the microphone, adjusted it from Kurt-height to Giant Rumblebuffin-height, took a deep breath, and nodded for Trent to start recording.

“Hey, Beth,” he said once he’d determined the best distance from the microphone. “I’m Finn. I’m your uncle Kurt’s brother, so I guess that makes me your uncle, too. But for a little while, I thought I was going to be your dad. And I was going to sing this song to you, but I never got the chance.” He swallowed hard, glanced at Kurt, and went on at Kurt’s encouraging nod. “I’ve got the chance now. And even though it turned out I’m not your dad—which is cool, I mean, your dad’s a great guy—I can still be your uncle, and I can always be your friend. And I want you to know that if you’re feeling sad, or mad, or really happy, or weird, or…anything, you can always talk to me, and I’ll always listen.”

He hesitated, seeming to consider saying more, then closed his mouth with a satisfied nod. He looked to Kurt, and Kurt started to [play](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e9DfuECQ_p4).

It was nice. It felt like they were finally finishing a conversation that had spent two years hanging in the air.

They weren’t three seconds past the end of the recording when Finn turned to Kurt and crushed him in a hug. “Thanks, dude.”

Kurt returned the hug, the perfect outlet for the rush of fondness that song always made him feel for Finn. “Thank _you_.”

Their last guest artist had arrived at mid-afternoon, and she had sat quietly on her own at first, just watching. Kurt had glanced over a few times, relieved when his third glance landed on Wes sitting down at a respectful proximity, talking quietly to her with the kind smile that occasionally appeared when he wasn’t in Warbler High Council Mode, and on her tentatively smiling back.

Now, she was getting up from her and Wes’s quiet-corner and making her way to the recording booth, where Kurt waited at the piano and Puck was already setting back up with his guitar, Finn settling at the trapset. She hesitated at the door.

Kurt didn’t blame her. “Are you okay?”

She looked at him, measured and carefully blank. “Ask me after.”

Once at the microphone, she pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and unfolded it. She swallowed, cleared her throat, and gave the signal to Trent.

“Hi, Beth,” she said, a little too soft before she noticed and corrected. “I’m not the mom that you know, but I carried you in my belly.”

Where before there had been a general susurrus of quiet chatter outside of the recording area, now it was silent. A glance told Kurt that this was partly because Wes was ushering the rest of the Warblers out to the break room. Wes looked briefly to Quinn in the booth, and Kurt followed his gaze just in time to see Quinn mouth back, _Thank you_.

“There are so many things I want you to know,” she said, her eyes back on her letter. “But the most important thing is this: you were always, always wanted, Beth, since the day you were born, and you were always, always loved. The first time I held you, I’d never seen anything more beautiful. And giving you to your mom, letting her adopt you, was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

For some reason she looked to Puck then, but his eyes stayed steadily off to the side. “But I did it,” she went on, “because you deserve everything good in the world, and I knew I couldn’t give that to you. More than anything, I want you to know that. That you deserve everything good, because you’re perfect to us, your dad and me.” Puck’s eyes lifted, but stayed angled away. “And that even if you don’t see me, and even if you don’t see your dad every day, we still love you. We’re all part of each other, just like your mom is a part of you.” Her shoulders seemed to lighten, her chin rising. “When you hear this song, I hope you’ll remember that.”

She nodded, looking straight ahead, and they [began](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zu6yzDmImVc).

Kurt and Puck had grappled with this song’s place on the playlist. They agreed that it would be good to have it, especially since they’d never gotten to sing it for glee club, but no matter where they put it, it just didn’t feel right. It was at the end of glee club on Friday, as he’d watched Puck watch Quinn sitting alone, that it had struck Kurt as clearly as if it had been whispered in his ear.

 _“I know what’s wrong with ‘Without You,’”_ he’d said as soon as he and Puck had taken over his living room couch with notebooks and sheet music and guitar accessories that afternoon. To Puck’s lifted eyebrow, he’d said, _“You’ve been singing it with the wrong partner.”_

Not that he would ever deny that he and Puck sounded fabulous on this song. But it wasn’t his. Here, it felt right.

Quinn didn’t stay long after she’d finished. It was just long enough for her to hand Puck the letter she’d read before her song, quietly asking if he’d include it in the CD case for Beth, and for him to nod and take it. Long enough for Finn to read her the way he could read just about everyone, and say, “Hey, come here,” and for her to sink into his hug like she’d been waiting for it. (Kurt didn’t blame her for that, either—his stepbrother gave _excellent_ hugs.)

Before going back to the parking lot, Quinn approached Kurt by choice, without anger or tears, for the first time in…wow, a long time. She tilted her head at him, studying him, and he returned the favor.

“Noah said it was your idea,” she said after a moment. “The CD, the studio. Me.”

Kurt, unlike Finn, was not a natural at reading people, and he utterly failed to guess where he stood with her now. “Yes, well.”

“I didn’t give you any reason to want to do anything for me,” she said. “Kind of the opposite. So I don’t know why you decided to anyway, but.” Her voice softened. “Thank you.”

Kurt nodded, coming up blank for what to say, and she added, “And I’m sorry I slapped you. I’m working with Miss Pillsbury on finding some more mature ways to deal with anger. And…other things.”

“Good,” Kurt said, because it was. “I mean, congratulations on your upper body strength, but I am going to have to vote for Not Slapping Kurt as well.”

Her face stretched into something between a smile and a grimace. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Something occurring to him, he said, “You told me to ask you after, and I never did.” He glanced up, fairly certain he knew the answer, but he asked anyway. “Are you okay?”

Just a little bit, she smiled.

“Right now,” she said, “I think I am.”

-

Quinn’s song had been the last, so after she had gone, the Warblers cheerfully kidnapped Kurt, Puck and Finn to Nick and Jeff’s dorm room for pizza and a celebratory showing of _Avenue Q_. When word made it around that Puck and Finn had never seen it before (as it was one of many unofficial rites of passage at Dalton, Kurt knew it far better than he had ever thought he would know a musical featuring naughty puppets, hallucination-bears, and Gary Coleman), he just sat back and enjoyed how wary the two of them started looking when the Warblers all exchanged knowing smirks.

“Wait,” Puck said skeptically as they started into the first act, “so it’s a puppet show?”

“Trust me,” Kurt said.

Finn shifted nervously on his floor-pillow. “Uh, you should probably know the Muppets scared the crap out of me when I was a kid…”

Kurt patted his shoulder. “Just trust me.”

By a couple of songs in, they both seemed entertained and pretty on-board, but when Kate Monster started [bubbling](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T-TA57L0kuc) about teaching a class on her own, Kurt came so close to laughing and giving them all away that Blaine pinched him. Kurt remembered this part from when the rest of the Warblers had done it to him at his first _Avenue Q_ showing, and they all found just how high his voice could go when he was surprised. Ah, memories.

The sounds Finn and Puck made when the rest of the room simultaneously shouted, _“For porn!”_ were possibly the best things that had ever happened.

It was a good place to be, curled up under Blaine’s arm, quoting some of the best lines with the Warblers while Puck and Finn laughed so hard that at a few points he worried for the structural integrity of their diaphragms, but Kurt had a feeling that he wasn’t going to last very long. The closure of having the recording done, the final release of tension, seemed to have sapped what was left of the adrenaline-energy he’d been running on for what felt like months now, and cuddling up with Blaine was a dangerous thing to do if he had any hope of staying awake.

He lasted as long as he could before nodding off to Christmas Eve crooning about hate and love, lulled by Blaine’s palm rubbing slow and warm against his back, listening to Finn chatting with Jeff and Nick and to Puck huffing a laugh, and feeling good.

He felt really, really good.

-

He drifted in and out a few times, but didn’t quite make it back to consciousness until Blaine shifted out from under him (to Kurt’s mostly-asleep dismay) with a kiss to his forehead (okay, Kurt forgave him). There was a shift, a muffled, “I’ve got him,” and then he was leaning against a different shoulder and there was an arm keeping him from slithering all the way to the floor, and the world started smelling an awful lot like pepperoni and Finn’s body wash.

He blinked the sleep from his eyes, making a questioning sound that he couldn’t quite manage to turn into coherence, and Finn patted his arm. “You can keep sleeping,” he said, his voice low under the dwindling conversations going on in the room. “He just needed the bathroom.”

Kurt grunted something to the negative, rubbing his eyes. “Hnn. No, s’okay. I’m up.”

“You sure?”

Goodness, Finn’s shoulder was comfy. “…Mm-mm.”

Finn huffed a laugh and gave him a squeeze, and then something suspiciously like an elbow was resting on his free shoulder and Puck’s voice was suddenly in his ear, even lower than Finn’s. “Dude, thought you said you and these guys weren’t tight.”

Kurt finally opened his eyes and sleepily panned around the Warbler-filled dorm room, getting a smile here and there when David or Jeff or Trent caught him looking.

“I was wrong.”

“No shit. You’ve gotta fix your priorities, dude. If I was at a freaking _sleep-over school_ with this many _chicks_ in uniforms who had boners for _me_ , you’d have to drag me out of there with a fucking crane or a bunch of zombies or something.”

“That sounded better in your head. I’m sure of it.”

“Just saying, dude.”

“I’m perfectly happy in my healthy, monogamous relationship, thank you.” Kurt lifted his head a little from Finn’s shoulder to glance at the clock and smiled when Blaine came back in, yawning into his hand. “Speaking of which.”

Blaine stopped in front of them, chuckling as he looked between Puck and Finn. “I’m not getting him back now, am I?”

“Not my fault,” Kurt said immediately, lifting a finger for emphasis. “A cuddle-cheater I am not.”

Puck snorted. “Yeah, right. You should have seen him with the chicks in glee--ow. Dude.”

“It’s not my fault you all adore me.” Kurt looked up at Blaine, removing his elbow from Puck’s ribs. “Turning in?”

“I think so. It’s pretty late. You going to stay up?”

Kurt held out grabby-hands in reply, and Blaine huffed a laugh and obediently pulled him to his feet. Wrapping an arm around him, Blaine called to the room, “It’s been real, gentlemen--”

“--But we must bid you adieu,” Kurt finished with a sleepy flourish, because he would never pass up the opportunity for a flourish, and he was met with a few normal-person good-nights and a few knowing grins, and a wolf-whistle that was definitely Puck. Kurt pointed at him. “No.”

“Yeah, you guys can come up whenever you want,” Blaine said in Puck and Finn’s direction. “Sleeping only. Cross our hearts.”

Puck rolled his eyes. “Psh, dudes, seriously. We’re not gonna do you like that. We’ll stay up,” he said, automatically punching Finn in the arm when he frowned and opened his mouth. Puck nodded magnanimously toward the door. “Go get your gay on.”

Blaine’s mouth dropped open, and Kurt rolled his eyes. “You’re talking, and all I’m hearing is a little voice in my head saying, ‘Duct tape, duct tape, needs more duct tape.’”

Puck held his hands up. “Whoa, whatever you guys do with duct tape is your business. Just put a tie under it or something, that shit chafes.”

“ _Uhh_ …” Finn finally managed at the same time as Blaine’s, “Wow.”

With effort, Kurt pried his palm off of his forehead, opened his mouth, closed it, shook his head. “Know what? Good night.” He caught Blaine’s hand and half-dragged him out the door. “Come on, dear.”

Blaine caught up quickly, still frowning as they rounded the corner and headed to his hall. “…So, he now thinks we—“

“Yes.”

“And he knew kind of a lot about—“

“Yes.”

“…I might have nightmares.”

“Me, too, sweetie,” Kurt said, lifting their joined hands to drop an empathetic kiss on Blaine’s knuckles. “Me, too.”

Getting ready for bed was slow and sleep-clumsy, Blaine nearly nodding off mid-skin-routine and not enough room in front of the sink and elbows bumping each other and resulting in toothpaste ending up on the wrong part of Kurt’s face, and laughing at each other every couple of minutes. He savored every second of it.

By the time they had tangled themselves up enough to fit on Blaine’s bed, Kurt was thinking goopy, domestic future-thoughts that would probably result in mortification if he said them out loud, and he may have been inhaling to do so anyway when Blaine beat him to the punch.

“I don’t say it enough,” Blaine murmured, “but you have to be the most impressive person I know.”

“Ooh,” Kurt said, grinning. “Cookie points for you.”

“I mean it,” Blaine said, smiling back. He covered Kurt’s hand with his on the pillow between them and squeezed. “A month ago, you were lying here telling me how awful things were going. How angry all your friends were, and how badly Puck was hurting, and how isolated you felt. Just a month. And look at what you’ve done.”

Kurt lowered his eyes, tracing the creases of Blaine’s finger with his thumb. “I didn’t fix everything. Some of the things that did get better weren’t all me.”

“But look at what was,” Blaine said. “You got Shelby to give Puck another chance, and now she’s invited you both to stay in the baby’s life--she wasn’t going to do that before. You tried your best to make things right with everyone, and so many of them took you up on it. Look at Finn. Look at _Quinn_.” Kurt lifted his eyes again, and Blaine shook his head. “You were the brains behind this whole recording, and you made it happen. And that’s not even counting the rest of it. Like the part where three guys had been bullying you since middle school, and you didn’t just forgive them--you taught them. And now one of them is so happy to call you his brother, and another one trusted you with this huge part of his life and has attached himself to you at the hip, and the third one has started defending you against his friends in front of everyone. I mean…you’re amazing, Kurt.”

Kurt blinked suddenly-blurry eyes and took an unsteady breath that he let out in a laugh. “You need to warn a boy before that kind of talk.” Blaine smiled big and bright and pulled him across the pillow into a hug, and Kurt squeezed back and mumbled into his shoulder, “Thank you.”

Blaine kissed his temple, and Kurt closed his eyes. Thinking over all of it--the secrets and the lying, the uncertainty, the spectacular crash-and-burn, the crippling loneliness and then the wonder of watching his people come back to him one by one, the planning and arguing and scheming, and at the heart of all of it the unexpected joy--he found that he was more amazed by everyone else, the ones who weren’t him. His friends and his family were weird and complicated and good and sometimes selfish but mostly wonderful. Artie was amazing. Tina and Mike were amazing. Dave, and the Warblers, and Carole, and Finn. Not one of them exactly what he’d thought they were, but so much better.

And Puck. Too many people at once, so talented and scarred and equal parts right and wrong about so many things. Passionate, defiant, loyal, sometimes ridiculous, sometimes hopeless. Worthy. His friend--his best friend, Noah Puckerman, was really, truly extraordinary.

He was surrounded by extraordinary people, and he was starting to think there would always be things about them that he didn‘t know, that would shift and change as often as he did, not always in the same direction. And that maybe, that was okay.

Blaine’s breathing was already starting to slow, but Kurt pulled back enough to lay a quick kiss on his lips and whisper, “You are amazing.”

Blaine smiled sleepily back at him, and Kurt kissed his forehead and settled back in. He stayed awake for a while after their I-love-yous and good-nights, listening to Blaine breathe and letting his thoughts meander. He kept his eyes closed when Finn and Puck not-so-quietly crept in at some ungodly hour, bumping into things and hissing to each other about who should get the futon versus the floor and generally failing at stealth.

Eventually there was shifting of clothing and unfurling of blankets, and the whisper-commotion died down. Finn was snoring within thirty seconds. The (relative) silence was a relief, and Kurt sighed.

From somewhere off to the side and down, Puck’s breath stopped for a second, and then his voice muttered, “You’re totally awake.”

Kurt sighed and mumbled into Blaine’s hair, “Not if I can help it. Note our fully-clothed-ness.”

“Like that means shit.” A shift of blankets. “So when’s the CD gonna be done?”

Prying his eyes open, Kurt dropped his head to the side and let his eyes try to focus on Puck’s shape a few feet away on the floor, not far from the snoring futon-lump that was Finn (who apparently had won the decisive and also-not-stealthy thumb-war). “They said a couple of weeks. Personally, I think the chances that we’ll have it by the first Chicago trip are pretty good.”

“Sweet.” Puck stretched his arms behind his head, getting comfortable in his sleeping bag. “Your dad and Hudson’s mom are still cool with my mom taking us, right?”

Kurt nodded, smiling a little. ‘Your dad and Hudson’s mom,’ not ‘your parents.’ Every time, no matter what anyone else called them or what kind of assurances Kurt gave that ‘your parents’ was okay. And it was okay. But this was, too. “You forget that your mom and Carole were bonding over you and Finn’s shenanigans long before Beth or I were involved. Plenty of trust there.” Blaine shifted, and Kurt absently rubbed his back, checking his volume. “Besides, it’s right for her to take us first. Beth’s her granddaughter.”

Puck huffed. “Don’t I know it. She got me to show her the pictures and went nuts. I put some on her phone and now she’s showing freaking everybody.”

“Can you really blame her? A child that adorable must be shown off.”

“Well, yeah.” He huffed quietly. “All her mom-friends keep saying she looks like me.”

Kurt smiled. “She does look like you.”

There was another exhale, sounding like satisfaction, and nothing after that for a little while.

“This was dope, dude,” Puck said at last, with the low volume and hint of resignation that always seemed to come with his honesty. “I mean, y’know. All of it. Summer and everything. Not telling me to fuck off when I asked you to help. Or when I was being an ass about it. Or when everyone else was.” He wasn’t good at eye contact when talking about feelings, and his gaze stayed somewhere off to the side. “But today, too. The prep, and Quinn, and everything. That was legit. So. Thanks.”

Kurt aimed his smile at nothing in particular, not entirely sure what to say, until the correct response occurred to him. He hadn’t thought it possible to roll his eyes at himself quite that hard. “Know that I am currently judging myself for this response, however appropriate it may be.” And he lifted his arm from Blaine’s back, and held out a fist.

Puck coughed out a laugh that he barely kept quiet enough to keep from waking up the others. “Oh, _hell_ yeah. Totally turned you.”

Kurt sighed. “Shut up and pound it.”

“That’s what sh—“

“Finish that sentence, walk home.”

Puck chuckled under his breath but left the sentence unfinished, and there was a strangely reassuring impact of knuckles hitting his knuckles. Then it was gone, and Puck shifted in his sleeping bag while Kurt draped his arm back over Blaine. “A wise choice.”

“Still thinking it.”

“You have fun with that…oh God. Actually, no, please don’t.”

Puck snorted, shifted again, and seemed to settle. “Night, Hummel.”

“Sweet G-rated dreams, Puckerman.”

He was fairly certain he could feel Puck’s eyes rolling. “Dork.”

Kurt smirked at nothing in particular and buried his face back in Blaine’s hair. It wasn’t until a minute later, when Puck’s breath had evened out and Kurt was finally starting to drift himself, that Blaine shifted into the crook of his neck and murmured, “You two are adorable.”

Kurt pinched him, earning a breathy chuckle. “Hush.”

-

The next time Kurt opened his eyes, he immediately noticed two things. One was that it was stupidly early in the morning for how late he’d gone to sleep. The other was that the room was missing a Puck.

He stubbornly closed his eyes again for five minutes (no Puck), ten minutes (no Puck), fifteen (still no Puck), before sighing at the ceiling and carefully detangling himself from Blaine because this was going to bother him now.

Throwing on his robe, Kurt embarked on a search through the near-silent residence hall, first checking the places he’d gotten turned around himself during his first few weeks at Dalton. It was as he was heading for Not the Way to Kurt’s Old Dorm Room #3 that he happened to pass by the community room, and he slowed, because the door was ajar.

Tentatively, Kurt nudged it open a little wider and peered inside. Then, his suspicions confirmed, he opened it the rest of the way and stepped in. “What are you doing in here?”

Puck glanced up from where he’d settled against the wall, laptop on his legs. Looking back to the screen, he shrugged. “Sightseeing.”

Kurt frowned, looking between Puck and the door. “This room doesn’t open until nine. How did you even get in?”

“Jacked the lock.”

“Of course you did.” Shaking his head, Kurt closed the door behind him and sat down by Puck against the wall. “What are you doing?”

“Had an idea for the CD cover,” Puck muttered, distracted. “Just gotta pick the photos out.”

“At seven in the morning on a Sunday?”

“Yeah, what of it?” Puck glanced at him. “Why are you even up?”

“Morning person. _Avenue Q_ naps. Psychic.” Kurt leaned in to look at the screen and smiled a little at the photos Puck was scrolling through. “I vote baby-rock-star. And/or that one where she’s trying to play the guitar with you.”

“Yeah, they’re in the pile.” Puck kept scrolling slowly through the photos, his gaze lingering on each one, not in a decision-making sort of way. “I dunno.”

On the bottom of the screen, next to the window he already had open, was a second tab. Kurt eyed it, then glanced at Puck. “So, you’ve been up early on your computer how many times since moving day?”

“What’s it to you?”

“With Skype open, even though you definitely said your Skype-day was yesterday before we road-tripped to the studio?”

Puck huffed. “So Beth gets Shelby up early like every day, right, and sometimes she’ll just throw me a chat saying she can do an extra Skype-day if I’m around, and I don’t see it until like two p.m. and then they’re out or Beth’s asleep or something. It sucks. So I’m gonna be ready.”

“Remember that thing we talked about, the logic thing?”

“Look, it’s freaking Chicago, okay?” Puck said, finally dropping his head back against the wall, glaring at the corner of the room. “It’s totally different from here. Change is freaking scary, dude. I got nightmares for like a month when we moved across town after my dad took off. That shit’s probably hereditary or something.” He turned his eyes moodily to the floor. “She might get scared. And if she does, I’m not gonna be just…nowhere.”

A multitude of responses were on the tip of Kurt’s tongue, ranging from questioning the logic and health benefits of Puck gluing himself to a computer waiting for a call to a hearty congratulations on spitting out a five-syllable word, but only one made it through.

“Good.”

Puck glanced at him sideways, then back at the corner. His brow lowered. “You think this is going to work?”

“What do you mean?”

“This,” Puck said, nodding at the laptop. “Skyping and visiting every month, and shit. A month ago, she didn’t even want me around Beth anymore. Now she’s cool with it, but tomorrow she could turn around and boot my ass out again, and there wouldn’t be shit I could do.”

Kurt shook his head, following Puck’s gaze to the screen. Which…oh. “That’s not going to happen.”

“You say.”

“No, I mean that’s actually not going to happen.”

“Yeah, how do you know?”

Kurt glanced up from the screen, starting to smile. “Look at your Skype tab.”

Puck frowned, then obeyed, his face opening up when he saw the tab blinking orange with a new message. “Holy shit!” A grin broke across Puck’s face, and he gleefully shoved at Kurt’s shoulder. “ _Owned!_ What’d I tell you? Got this shit on _lock_.”

Kurt didn’t bother chastising him for shoving, instead just righting himself and silently thanking the universe for its impeccable timing while Puck opened up the Skype window. Kurt leaned in to read along with Puck.

_**Shelby Corcoran**  
Hey, Noah – just letting you know that I’ll be home with Beth all day today, since she’s still getting over that little cold from the other day and has been pretty fussy. If you get this today, I’m sure she could use some cheering up from her daddy. :) I’ll keep Skype on. Talk to you later._

Puck was plunking the laptop into Kurt’s lap and scrambling for his guitar before Kurt had finished reading, and he watched in mild amusement as Puck slung the guitar over his PJs and gave it the world’s quickest tuning. “So Beth was super pissed when we Skyped the other day because she was all stuffed up and had no freaking idea what was up with that, and she wouldn’t chill out until I started singing to her. I mean, it took a while, but it worked, and that was just me. Both of us singing? I bet she’s doing the bouncer two songs in.”

“‘The bouncer?’”

“Y’know, that little dance thing where she bobs around. Gonna have a signature move, you gotta give it a name. So, ‘the bouncer.’ That way it still sounds badass.”

Kurt chuckled. “The Bouncer. Toddler dance craze of the future. Got it.”

“Kickass. Okay, shit, we gotta pick a song and call. They open up this room when?”

Kurt glanced at the clock. “About an hour from now. We’ve got time.”

“Sweet. Songs, though. What’s your vote, dude?”

Kurt thought about it, mostly for show. “The one you did for glee club. I daresay it may have been your best performance yet.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm.”

It was an understatement. The only performance that could have compared to that one was when he’d sung ‘Beth.’ Singing this song, for no one but Beth, with Finn and Kurt at his back on drums and piano and harmony, Noah Puckerman had become himself. Finally, and completely.

Puck’s eyebrows twitched in approval, and he settled his guitar on his lap. He nodded, and Kurt pressed ‘Call.’ “That’s legit. Good ol’ Jason Whatshisf—“

“Mraz, Noah,” Kurt said, shaking his head. “Mraz.”

The video screen loaded, and then Shelby was lifting her eyebrows at them, a pink-cheeked Beth in her lap. “Wow, we get both of you at this time of the morning?”

“Long story,” Kurt said, grinning harder than he’d expected to. He’d missed them.

Beth squeaked at the sight of them and pointed at the screen, and Shelby laughed, leaning down next to her. “Long time no see, right? Who’s that?”

Beth proudly replied, “Daddy!”

Puck exhaled fast, smiling huge and honest as he pressed his fingertip against hers on the screen. “Hey there, baby-girl.”

“And who’s that with Daddy? Do you remember?”

Kurt good-naturedly shook his head, not entirely sure saying his name was physically possible prior to a certain age, and then Beth tilted her head at him and said, “Unc-Ka?”

Shelby laughed, and Puck let out a surprised, “Ha!” and Kurt stared. Grinning at him, Shelby said, “I swear she’s writing her own language made up entirely of first syllables. But we’re working on it, Uncle Kurt.”

“…Wow. That’s…wow.” Oh God, he was absolutely not going to cry over Skype before eight in the morning because a baby kind of said half of his name. He cleared his throat. “Great job, sweetie. _Tres bien_.” Nope, not crying not crying not crying. “Puck, you were going to sing something, right? Maybe you should sing the thing.”

An elbow to the arm told him he was fooling no one, but Puck went with it. “If that’s what the lady wants. How about it, Bethie? Think a daddy-song would make you feel better?”

“I’m starting to think daddy-songs cure all ills for this one,” Shelby said, dropping a kiss on top of Beth’s head. “What have you got for us today?”

Kurt and Puck glanced at each other. Grinned, just a little, because this wasn’t new and strange anymore. They were used to being these people now, just the two of them in a sunlit room with a guitar, the boys who sang to Beth.

“From the top?” Kurt said, making his best attempt to channel Mr. Schuester.

Puck huffed a laugh. “From the [top](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZYqcpTYQ8I4).”

 

They began.

 

~*~

_Fin_

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who have stuck with me through my flailing, unexpected canon overlap, tragedy in the fandom, and an outrageously long hiatus or two, thank you thank you thank you, you are all so lovely. Special thanks to theslashbunny, who jumped in as a beta with the utmost enthusiasm, who gave me emoticon-cheerleaders and hand-holding when I pelted her with writerly despair, and who made some really kickass graphics to go with this story, even though she’s had a degree to earn and a wedding to plan. You’re da best, my dear! <3


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